Paranoia
by Ellessaria
Summary: AU Tag to 5x11. When Mordred screams at the moment of Kara's death, it's not the bars of his prison that shatter, but the protective walls of Merlin's mind. As the druid telepathically tortures the warlock, Merlin finds himself in pain, unable to control his magic, and increasingly fearing his King. Rated for whump. (Cover art by MildeAmasoj)
1. Aftermath

**So originally I was going to wait until I had three or four chapters ready to post, but knowing how I tend to procrastinate, I figured that posting in 'real-time' will probably be much better for me in terms of accountability. I've got a little more written, but as there is a POV change in the narration, I think I will stick with my tried and tested formula of one character's point of view per chapter. Chapter two will be from Arthur's perspective, and the POV's will continue throughout the story to be from either Merlin's or Arthur's perspective.**

**I've updated the bio on my profile with more information on this story (and others that I have written), but for now, I will simply say that this fic is dedicated to Vaughntronic, who, when asked for a prompt, gave me some lovely, angsty ideas to work with. This story is the result of that, and I hope you enjoy it!**

**I don't own Merlin.**

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><p>Merlin felt sick. Not the sick that came from illness, but the sick that came from his stomach twisting and turning into tight knots; twisting and turning so much that it felt like his belly was going to explode from the tension.<p>

The knots of dread had started with the appearance of a druid girl in the woods; a druid girl that Mordred was desperate to protect from Camelot's laws. A druid girl that Merlin somehow knew was the ripple in the water that would become an unstoppable wave of destruction.

He'd tried to stop things reaching this level of peril. He'd tried to talk sense both to Mordred – who was beyond reasoning with due to his love for the girl – and to Arthur who, while he had listened to a certain extent, hadn't really had much of a choice in the end when it came to deciding the druid girl's fate.

There'd been a moment when Merlin had felt the knots in his stomach ease up a little, when the dread that was making him feel so nauseous had lessened enough for him to feel a little hopeful. Arthur had offered the girl clemency - if she would but repent for her crimes - but Kara had been too proud, and too bitter; too far gone into hate to allow herself to unbend, even at the cost of her life.

So Arthur had passed sentence and, after sharing a look with the king during the tense meeting, Merlin knew that his friend was both disappointed at the final judgement, yet determined to see it through.

And so Merlin felt sick. He felt sick at the sight of the young girl being led to her death in the courtyard; a girl who was so young and, while guilty of a crime, was _not_ deserving of the death that was coming to her. And he felt sick at the thought that would not cease whirling around in his head; the thought that was taunting him with the fear that the death of this druid girl was only going to be the start of terrible things to come...

_Why couldn't you just let things be?_

Mordred's rage-filled accusation seemed to reverberate in the warlock's head in perfect unison with the churning of his belly, and Merlin didn't know if it was because the young knight was still sending him telepathic admonishments, or if it was simply guilt playing tricks on him. Either way, his head was in much the same condition as his stomach; it was only a question of which body part would explode first.

When Kara's feet were removed from the support beneath them, Merlin had his answer. A telepathic scream of anguish from the knight locked in the cells reached him, and the warlock almost screamed himself, such was the pain that attacked every inch of his head. The pressure was immense; his skull felt crushed, yet _not_ crushed at the same time. The weight of Mordred's grief was pushing Merlin's brain into a tight corner, and yet the warlock had the strangest sensation of unravelling; of feeling that his head was going to fly apart if he could not somehow contain it.

The warlock sank to his knees and frantically grabbed at his head with both of his hands, hoping that he could somehow keep it intact. He rolled into a ball, and could hear someone grunting with pain; dimly, he realised that it was _him_ who was emitting the agonised sounds, but he was powerless to stop himself. He curled into a tighter ball, squeezing his head even as he shook it vigorously from side to side, trying to escape the deafening screams of rage and anguish that Mordred was still sending to him.

The grunts of pain became moans as the telepathic screams intensified, and Merlin lost control of his stomach, purging himself violently on the floor. He was vaguely aware of someone speaking to him – Gwaine? – but he couldn't hear the words; they were buried amongst the screams that were still battering at his head. He tried to reach out to the person before him, but as soon as he lifted a hand, the pain in his head became impossibly worse, and suddenly, everything went black.

oo0oo

The first thing that Merlin became aware of – apart from the dull throbbing in his skull – was that he was no longer lying on cold stone, but was cocooned within a haven of soft blankets. He opened his eyes just a slither, blearily noting the familiar ceiling of his own room, but swiftly closed them again as the light caused little pricks of pain to attack his already battered brain.

He could still hear the echoes of Mordred's screams bouncing around his head, and though they weren't as loud as before, they were strong enough to cause the warlock to flinch, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching up to cradle his aching skull once more.

He knew he'd blacked out, but he _also_ knew that the druid knight had continued to assault his mind during his period of unconsciousness. Only instead of the overwhelming screams that had initially attacked him – which had now lessened somewhat in their intensity – he had been aware of the taunting repetition of a single word...

_Merlin..._

Even now, the word was being uttered every few seconds, and each time Merlin heard it, he felt his brain jostling around in his head, like a dice that was still spinning before coming to a halt.

_Merlin... Merlin... Merlin... Merlin..._

"Merlin?"

The warlock frowned at the sound of his name entering his consciousness through the more acceptable means of his ears, and risked opening his eyes a fraction.

"Gaius?" he croaked.

His guardian was hovering above him, looking somewhat dishevelled, though Merlin wasn't sure if that was because his vision was slightly skewered. He blinked slowly, bringing the physician more sharply into focus, and noted the creases of concern on the older man's brow, and the way he was worrying at his lip, clearly unsure of what was happening to his ward.

"What happened? Gwaine found you collapsed, and he said you were clutching your head. Are you sickening for something?"

_Merlin... Merlin... Merlin..._

" - should have said something to me this morning if you were. Gwaine also told me -"

_Merlin... Merlin... I'm going to make you suffer, Merlin..._

"-you'd emptied your stomach all over the floor. Foolish boy! How many times -"

_I'm going to make you pay, Merlin... you're going to pay dearly for betraying me..._

"-have I told you, you cannot ignore your health!"

"I'm going to be sick again," said the warlock abruptly, still clutching his head even as he spoke, and lurching to his side so that he could avoid soiling his bed. Gaius immediately stopped his scolding and supported the warlock as he painfully purged himself so thoroughly that Merlin was sure he had parted with more than the remaining contents of his stomach. When it became clear that the retching was no more than retching, the physician gently helped Merlin back to a more comfortable position and placed a cooling cloth on his head.

Meanwhile, Merlin was relieved to note that Mordred seemed to have stopped his mental assault for the time being, and while his head still felt fit to burst at any given moment, it was at least empty of the taunting words and screams of the druid knight.

"Perhaps it was something you ate?" said Gaius gently. "This looks like food poisoning to me."

"No," he said, wincing at the sound of his voice, which seemed ridiculously loud to his aching head. He swallowed, and then tried again in a softer tone. "Not food poisoning. I haven't eaten anything today."

Gaius puffed out a sigh, and shook his head as he busied himself filling a cup with some water. Merlin had to bite back a scream as his guardian gently cupped his head so that he could take a few sips of the refreshing liquid.

"Honestly, Merlin, when will you _learn_ that you need to eat three regular meals a _day_?"

"I didn't have _time_ this morning," he whispered, brushing away the cup after a few small sips. He was terribly thirsty, but he was afraid of drinking too much in case his stomach rebelled again.

"You should _make_ time! We've been through this before; you _know_ how your magic can drain you. You _know_ that you need to fortify your body regularly if you want to stay on your feet. How many times have we had this _same_ conversation?"

"There was no time!" Merlin snapped. "I needed to see Arthur, to speak with him about Mordred..."

The warlock stopped suddenly as another wave of agony pierced his skull. Gaius sighed.

"Merlin," he said gently. "I know how worried you've been about this dreadful druid girl business, but I've told you before, you can't neglect your health. What use will you be to Arthur if you get yourself into states like this?"

The physician carefully lowered the warlock's head back to the pillow, and prised Merlin's fingers from their renewed grip on his skull. Merlin hissed with the return of the painful pressure, and immediately returned his hands to their original position.

He wanted to tell Gaius that Mordred was in his head. He wanted to explain that the young knight was torturing him with endless screams and taunting words, but somehow he couldn't seem to form any words. His tongue suddenly appeared to be glued to the roof of his mouth, and all he could do was gaze mutely at the concerned man who was watching him shrewdly. _Make it stop. Please make it stop_.

"Well, that's quite the headache you have, my boy. I've already given you some herbs to alleviate the pain, but it seems that you are in need of something stronger. Rest quietly now, and I will mix up a more potent brew."

Merlin could only sigh as a response, and he closed his eyes as the older man left the room. He slowly dragged his fingers across his forehead, adjusting the position of the cloth that Gaius had thankfully thought to leave behind, and he pressed his fingertips as hard as he could tolerate into his head, hoping the exterior pressure would override the interior one.

"Mordred," he muttered, and was immediately hit with a fresh burst of unbelievable pain.

_No, Merlin, no... you will not utter my name out loud ever again. Your words condemned Kara to a death that she did not deserve, and I will _not_ let that happen to me. You will not speak my name again, nor will I allow you to spill poisonous words from your traitorous lips. You will pay for what you have done. I will _make_ you pay. And you will be powerless to stop me._

_You are in a cell, Mordred, and your magic is weaker than mine._

_But this is druid magic at its strongest, Merlin; something that you are obviously unfamiliar with. Something that you will never understand, because you are – and always will be – an outcast. If you had embraced your true heritage while you were growing up, then perhaps you could fight me on this. But you can't. And you won't._

_I don't understand._

_But you soon will, Emrys. You soon will..._

The telepathic connection suddenly broke as Merlin was pulled from it by the sound of his door being opened. Gwaine popped his head around the door cautiously, and seeing that Merlin was awake, he stepped into the room.

"Gaius is still brewing, but he said I could see how you were. You look terrible, by the way."

"Thanks."

"_Feel_ terrible too, huh?"

"I've been better."

"Gaius said something about a headache? Drinking without me, my friend? That's not very sporting of you."

Merlin smiled weakly at the joke, but it was more for Gwaine's sake than from any sort of feeling of amusement. Mordred's words were still floating through his mind, and he was starting to feel sick with dread again. He needed to warn Arthur somehow; he needed to expose Mordred's obvious unravelling, for the state of the young druid's mind was clearly a cause for concern. If he could attack Merlin's mind with such apparent ease, there was no knowing what he was capable of doing to Arthur, who was far more vulnerable to an assault, magical or otherwise.

"Gwaine," he said urgently, "You must check on..." His voice choked on the word 'Mordred', and the warlock found himself coughing and spluttering, holding back a scream of agony as the druid sent another pulse of pain telepathically to him.

_You will _not_ speak my name!_

Once again, Merlin was buried beneath a cacophony of endless screams, and even as he tried desperately to squeeze the pain from his burning skull, his vision darkened, and he was thrust into blackness again.


	2. Indecision

**Wow! Such a huge response to this - I am quite shocked! Thank you to everyone who has shown an interest in this story! Several of you have said that the idea is an interesting one, and I'd like to reiterate that while the story is mine, the original idea came from a prompt. At the end of the story, I will post the full details of the prompt that inspired this, as at the moment I don't want to give anything away...**

**Here's the next bit, I hope you enjoy it!**

**I still don't own Merlin...**

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><p>Arthur was glad that he had Guinevere at his side, for as much as he hated the idea of her having to watch an execution, he knew that her presence was a source of strength for him, a strength that he knew he needed right now. It pained him that he was responsible for sentencing such a young girl to die. He was not without sympathy for the druid girl, particularly as he knew how much wrong had been done to the druids by Uther's ruthless clamp down on all things magical. He was still confident that he had made the right decision, and yet something was nagging at him, making his heart beat a little faster. He just wasn't exactly sure what it was that was causing him to feel a faint stirring of panic.<p>

He was particularly uneasy, he knew, because of his experience with The Disir. Much as he'd tried to brush aside their predictions of doom at the time, he'd been worrying about what they had said ever since. Not enough to cause him to lose sleep, but enough to prod at him occasionally, making him pause to consider his actions.

And, of course, there was Merlin, who had morphed overnight – or so it seemed – into a man older than his true age. His servant had sometimes, over the years, offered up pieces of advice that had faintly impressed him, and whenever those infrequent words of wisdom had been uttered by the man, the king had been struck by Merlin's strange expression. The expression wasn't even something that the blonde could describe, but the subtle changes in his friend's features made the man seem like a different person.

And Merlin had worn that same, confusing expression when he had talked with the king about Mordred. Arthur had firmly held his position on the judgement of the druid girl's fate, but he hadn't been oblivious to Merlin's words; nor had he been oblivious to the faint vibes of panic that his friend was emitting.

For panic was what it was. Arthur had never been particularly good at picking up any subtle undercurrents of mood, but in times of stress – which this undoubtedly was – he was a little more sensitive to them. He glanced at his wife, and knew that she was the one responsible for this; the short years of their marriage had taught the king many things, not least that the thoughts and feelings of others – no matter their class – was not something that should be overlooked. A good ruler considered the whole of his kingdom, not just the nobles.

And so Arthur had begun to learn, and to pay more attention to the people around him, particularly those who he had perhaps neglected in the past. He'd watched, and he had learned. Surprisingly, he'd learned the most from his long-serving manservant. He'd observed Merlin, especially when the man had thought himself out of the king's line of sight, and Arthur had noticed several startling things.

First, his servant was not as clumsy as the blonde had originally thought. Oh, the man still tripped over his own feet, and dropped things from time to time, but Arthur had noticed something of a pattern in his servant's behaviour. Most of the time, Merlin was busy with the many tasks that occupied his days; errands for Gaius, his duties for Arthur himself, and numerous other things that the king hadn't even realised his servant did, such as helping one of the maids, or fetching things for the knights. Merlin was possibly one of the busiest people in Camelot, and that he would occasionally miss his footing, or knock something to the floor, was not really so surprising. The man was like a child's spinning top; one small nudge to throw him off balance, and he inevitably came to an awkward stop.

It was faintly impressive, actually, the amount of things that his servant did, and Arthur had lessened his teasing of the man because of it. But the most striking thing he had learned from carefully watching his friend, was that on those rare occasions when the servant was not running himself ragged for other people – when he was actually _still_ for a moment – a look of shrewdness would pass over his features, a look that was somehow at odds with the generally childlike openness of Merlin's countenance.

A look that matched the expression on his servant's face whenever he delivered one of his unerringly sound words of wisdom; the look that was present when his friend had used surprisingly fast reflexes to catch the runemark of The Disir. And the look that had become increasingly familiar over the past few months, ever since Morgana had reappeared into their lives.

Even as the blonde gave the nod for the druid girl's execution, he was visited with several memories of Merlin's earnest gaze, and his quiet words urging the king to change his mind.

_"You're breaking his heart. You'll lose his trust. Think again."_

_"Well how will one more death bring about the peace we long for? She's young; I don't believe she's beyond redemption. You've witnessed their love for each other, that's something far greater than her desire to serve Morgana or her cause. Give her one more chance, she'll take it."_

_"Please, Arthur. You have to listen to me."_

Arthur had been more than a little moved by Merlin's almost desperate words, but he'd persuaded himself that his servant was being his usual sensitive self. The king took no pleasure in killing such a young girl, but he nevertheless felt that it was something that had to be done. For the good of the_ kingdom_, it had to be done.

But now, he wasn't so sure. And it was too late to change his mind, for the girl was already dead. He'd forced himself to watch the consequences of his decision, knowing that he had no right to look away. But even though his gaze was fixed upon the gallows, he could not help but notice the form of his manservant, partly hidden from view by his position in the shadows, and the king somehow sensed the dark-haired man's turmoil.

Hanging was a silent death; there wasn't the terrified screaming that accompanied death by fire, and there wasn't the sickening thud of an axe that came from a beheading. And yet, as the girl slipped from life, Arthur fancied that he heard the snap of her neck ring loudly in his ears, and he had the strangest feeling that Merlin had been visited with something similar, for the servant's head had fallen sharply forward, eerily echoing the final movement of the condemned girl's life.

"It is done," said Guinevere, bringing Arthur's attention away from his disturbing thoughts.

"Yes, it is done."

"Come, Arthur; we have done what is right, and what is our duty. Let us go inside now, and leave this horrible scene. You're tired; you should take some rest."

"No, Guinevere. There is still the matter of Mordred to decide."

"At least have some refreshment. I'm sure Merlin will bring something if you ask; you've not even broken your fast this morning."

Arthur smiled gratefully at his wife, and raised her hand to his lips. She smiled, and cupped his cheek, searching his eyes with concern.

"No, I cannot put this off. I need to speak with Mordred."

oo0oo

It was quite some distance to the castle's dungeons, but as so often is the case when you are embarking on something you dreaded, Arthur reached his destination far quicker than he'd anticipated. He'd played with the idea of taking Merlin with him, but the servant had somehow disappeared, and Arthur was in no mood to search for his confusing friend.

The first thing Arthur noted when he entered the holding area, was that Mordred seemed to be in a daze. This was hardly surprising, for the boy was surely aware that the girl he cared about was no longer living. But the king was slightly stunned at the level of shock that the young knight seemed to be suffering from. The man – who was little more than a _boy_, really – was pale as parchment, and was gazing firmly ahead of him.

Gazing at _Arthur_, in point of fact, though he knew without doubt that Mordred was not actually _seeing_ him. There was a strange look fixed upon the young man's face; he looked both determined, and bemused. Defeated, yet purposeful.

"Mordred."

The knight jumped out of his reverie, and the slightly glazed look in his eyes shifted into a sharper focus.

"Sire."

The two men stared at each other for perhaps two or three minutes; Mordred appeared to be calm, though Arthur was once again aware of the subtle nuances in the knights face; nuances that hinted at the pain that the man was suffering. The king had been undecided about Mordred's fate even as he'd stepped into the dungeon, and the sight of the man before him was doing little to help him make a decision.

"What am I to do with you?" he said softly.

Mordred lowered his gaze for a moment, and when he next looked up, there were tears hovering in his eyes, clinging to them, apparently reluctant to leave their home.

"My head tells me to give you the same fate as your friend, and I think perhaps that would even be a kindness for you, for I can see how much you cared for her. Perhaps you would be reunited with her."

The knight slowly blinked, but there was no other reaction from him.

"But my heart... well, _there_ is my problem. I am not an unfeeling man, Mordred. I am not blind to all that goes on before me. I am not even _unsympathetic_ to your plight. I am not so certain that I would not have done the same thing in your position."

Again, the knight did no more than blink, though this time a tear managed to escape its mooring.

"And so I am undecided. I do not know what to do about you."

Arthur watched carefully, but the knight seemed determined to keep his silence. The king sighed.

"Very well. We will discuss this further; perhaps later this evening. I will have some food sent to you. Perhaps you will be more inclined to speak to me when you are feeling stronger."

"Thank you, sire. You are kinder to me than I expected. Kinder than I'm sure I deserve."

Arthur hid his surprise at the unexpected reply and nodded, turning to leave; but on his way out of the dungeon, he paused, and half-turned his head.

"I am sorry that things ended this way."

"I am sorry too, sire."

oo0oo

Arthur was more than a little unsettled after his meeting with Mordred, and was continuing to be conflicted when it came to deciding the younger man's fate. More than ever, he was confused by the situation that he found himself in. Mordred had quickly appeared in his life, and had just as quickly penetrated the carefully placed walls around the king's heart. Camelot's newest knight had a gift for charming all those that he met, and he knew that the boy had endeared himself to all of the other knights just as swiftly as he had carved out a spot for himself in the king's affections.

In fact, Mordred was well-liked by everyone. It was remarkable how easily the boy had fitted into his new role, considering that he was not even a noble. When comparing the boy's fast progression into the ranks of Camelot's finest with the memory of Gwaine's or Percival's, for example, Arthur knew that Mordred's experience had been far from difficult.

Everyone _liked_ the boy, it was as simple as that.

Everyone, in fact, apart from his curious manservant. Merlin had from the beginning displayed an unusual reluctance to accept the boy; unusual indeed for a man who, in the past, had a record of being perpetually optimistic about those he considered to be underdogs.

But it had not escaped the king's notice that Merlin was extremely slow to warm to the young knight, which was why he had been more than a little confused by his friend's sudden interest in the state of the boy's mind. He'd tried to explain it away as Merlin's habitual sensitivity, but deep down, he'd known it was more than that.

Perhaps now was the time to search out his manservant after all.

Feeling pleased that he had come to a decision – even if it was not the decision that he so clearly needed to make – the blonde changed his direction, and headed straight across the courtyard. When searching for his wayward friend, it was always wise to start with Gaius.

The courtyard was all but empty, the gallows painfully still, and the surrounding area free of the earlier crowds. There were several groups of maidservants gossiping quietly amongst themselves, but Arthur paid them no heed. He had little interest in hearing any outlandish tales from the morning's events.

He would perhaps have avoided the gossip altogether, if his ears hadn't suddenly picked up a stray word or two, and if he hadn't have spotted a servant scrubbing vigorously at the floor on the same spot that Merlin had been stood during the execution.

_"Shaking fit to burst, he was..."_

_"Oh, the poor boy."_

_"Of course, he must have been under pressure. The King has been in a foul mood lately, and everyone knows how that boy feels the brunt of it when Arthur is out of sorts."_

The whispered conversation suddenly came to a stop, and the maid who was scrubbing looked up, finding herself face to face with the king. She scrambled to her feet and bobbed a curtsey.

"Sire," she said, sounding somewhat panicked.

Arthur nodded and waved his hand awkwardly.

"Please, don't be alarmed. Tell me, what happened here?"

"Begging your pardon, sire, but I thought you already knew."

"I've been attending to some important buisness," he said dismissively. "Now tell me, what has happened?"

"Well..." the maid started, looking rather helpless as she looked around for some aid. "It is _Merlin_, sire. He's taken ill. Sir Gwaine took him to the Court Physician."

"Ill?"

"Yes, sire," said another of the maids, who stepped nervously forward. "He was sick." The maid gestured towards the woman who had been scrubbing the floor. "Quite badly, sire. Sir Gwaine found him on the floor. Out cold, he was, sire."

"Thank you," muttered the king, nodding at the maid. "Carry on."

Arthur upped his pace as he made his way towards the old physician's chambers, feeling that all-too familiar ball of dread roll around in his stomach.

_Something was not right..._


	3. Confrontation

**Thank you so much to everyone who has followed, favourited, and reviewed so far! I am _stunned_ at how quickly this story has gained readers, and I only hope that I don't disappoint anyone after such a promising start.**

**Here's the next bit, and I would really appreciate it if you could tell me whether I need to change the rating of the story or not. I have a feeling that I may have gone a little too 'whumpy' for a K+, though as I have never written anything like this before, I'm really not sure. Opinions would be welcome! #Edit - Scrap that - I've just changed the rating anyway. I don't want to get flamed for not giving readers a fair warning. Better safe than sorry!  
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**And yes... here be whump. And plenty of it. I guess that's warning enough for now. *crosses fingers***

**I don't own Merlin, which, after this chapter, I suspect he would be quite happy about...  
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><p><em>He was running... running so fast that his breath had long ceased to be more than desperate gulps of air; gulps that did little to ease the fire in his chest. He'd lost count of the times his face had been whipped by the branches of the trees he had passed, and could no longer recall how many times he'd missed his footing and had lurched forwards, landing with a sickening thud, only to pull himself straight back up again.<em>

_It was pitch black, but he dared not use his magic to light the path ahead. It was the dead of night, and the rain was attacking his face with as much vigour as the merciless limbs of the trees. He wanted to collapse to the ground and fling his arms out wide, to breathe in air that was more than a teasing taste of relief to his aching chest. But he couldn't stop. He had to keep running._

_He had to keep running... or it was all over._

_He gasped as he slipped on the wet earth beneath his feet, scraping his hands and knees once more as he tried to regain his balance. He could hear the heavy thud-thud-thudding of his pursuer in the background, the sound of the horse's hooves creeping ever closer..._

_He had to keep running, and he couldn't stop, because if he stopped..._

_No, he couldn't think about that; he needed to run._

"_You traitorous coward! You cannot run fast enough. You cannot run FAR enough! I will catch you, and I will KILL you for what you have done!"_

_He wanted desperately to scream a denial back to his tormentor, but he couldn't find his breath; every spare ounce of his strength was needed to keep the blood pumping through his burning legs, and to keep his lungs expanding wide enough to catch hold of every last bit of air that he was struggling to draw in._

"_There is nowhere you can hide, traitor. No place where I will not find you. I will catch you, and you will pay. You will pay, and you will die."_

_The furious voice was closer than ever, and he had to resist the urge to peer over his shoulder, to check how close to his death he truly was. For he knew that death was coming to him, chasing him in the form of a raging man riding a demon horse..._

_But he would not give in, no matter that his chest felt that it might explode from the pressure he was putting on it, and no matter how much his legs were beginning to feel like softly churned butter, threatening to melt into the ground that had proved so willing to embrace him so far._

_He tripped and fell once more, but this time his momentum carried him forwards, scraping at his already scratched face, and hurling him forwards... and then down._

_Down...down...down... hurtling towards the overflowing rapids of the river below, pitching him ever closer to the array of jagged rocks that formed a treacherous frame for the waterway._

_He was numb now, sensing each new knock to his body, but unable to feel anything. Even his breathing was easier, for his lungs were no longer struggling to draw breath; they were far too busy trying vainly to cling to the air that was being forced out of them with every sickening turn of his body._

"_You've nowhere to go now," taunted the crazed man above him, who was driving his terrifying mount ruthlessly down the steep incline, too intent on reaching his target to pay heed to the way the beast dug its hooves into the ground, threatening to bring down both rider and horse from their flight._

_His body came to a sudden stop, his limbs flailing helplessly around him as he tried to get his bearings. He was dizzy from his descent, and though he was still numb, he knew that if feeling was ever to return, there would be pain..._

_He had to get up; he had to keep running..._

_But he was not quick enough. Even as he scrambled to his feet, he realised that the thud-thud-thudding of the horse's hooves was close enough for him to feel the movement in the ground beneath him. He turned around just in time to see the horse rear up inches ahead of him, the beast cruelly pulled to a halt by his angry rider. _

_He didn't have time to raise more than a hand before one of the horse's hooves landed heavily against his head, and he screamed at the agony that ripped through his skull. The force of the blow was enough to knock him from his feet, and he was dimly aware of fresh bursts of pain attacking him as the jagged rocks did their worst, and stabbed at his head almost as powerfully as the horse had struck him moments before._

_Still... he could not stop... he had to get up... he had to keep going..._

_But even the river was against him, the rapid flow of it threatening to pull him under, and all he could do was thrash wildly in the air, hoping to grasp something – anything – that would keep him afloat..._

_Merlin...this is only the beginning of your pain..._

"_NO_!"

He could not _breathe_. He was surrounded by darkness, and his heart was surely about to leap from his chest. His mouth was pulling in air, but it was with such dizzying speed that he could not keep hold of it. He scrambled around himself, confused that the water did not _feel_ like water, and not understanding how his chest could expand, when clearly there was no _air_...

"Merlin! Hush, now, it's alright... it's alright..."

Then there was blessedly bright light surrounding him, and the blurry outline of his guardian hovering above. But still, he could not _breathe_...

"Merlin! Listen to me. You need to calm down. _Listen to me!_ Breathe deeply. In. Out. Like so. In. Out."

He tried to obey the old man, but he couldn't control himself. His head was near splitting, and he felt his throat closing around strangled gasps that were mixed with an awful keening sound, the moans tearing at his throat and causing him to claw wildly at it.

The physician cursed, and pulled Merlin into a sitting position, thrusting the warlock's head between his knees, and thumping his back several times in quick succession.

"Breathe, Merlin, you need to _breathe_!"

With one last thump to his back, Merlin felt his lungs expel the little air that was left in them, and he sucked in a life-giving breath, almost choking with the effort.

"There... easy, my boy, easy. You're alright."

"What the _hell_ is going on?"

Merlin snapped his head up, meeting the eyes of the king, and his breath left him again, forcing Gaius to once again thump him on his back. Even as he dimly sent thanks to whoever it was who had allowed air to reach his lungs once more, the taunting voice of the druid took away his relief, and replaced it with pain.

_Merlin... Merlin...Merlin..._

The warlock gripped his skull and moistened his throat, lowering his head to his knees. He pulled in several deep breaths and called on his magic to alleviate the pain... but nothing happened. His magic would not come.

"No. No, no, no..." he whispered, curling deeper into himself and rocking back and forth. _Mordred, what have you done?_

_The magic is not gone from you, Emrys; it just isn't yours to command any more._

_No. That can't be right. You can't do that. It's not possible._

_So powerful... yet so stupid. The mighty Emrys. There are so many things that you don't understand..._

_You can't steal my magic. You need spells... an enchantment... a dark creature... you can't steal it simply because you will it._

_You don't believe me? Then try it. Try it now. Try it, and see how you fail._

_You're trying to trick me. You know Arthur is here. You know that I cannot use magic in front of him._

_But he is your king. He is the one you believe in. Or are you ready to admit that you are wrong; that you have been wrong all this time, and have wasted not only your gift, but your entire life._

_No... Arthur is a good king. He is a good man._

_Is he, now? And yet you are deeply afraid of him discovering your secret; afraid that he will kill you just as he killed my Kara._

_No... he wouldn't do that... I don't believe that... he is a good man..._

_Then why was he chasing you, Emrys? Why were you running from him, even in your dreams?_

_No... that was you. You planted that dream in me; you must have. I've never had a dream like that before now... Arthur wouldn't hurt me. I know he wouldn't._

_I planted no dreams, Emrys; this was something that was already there._

_No... no, you're wrong..._

_Arthur will kill you if he discovers your secret, Emrys. Deep down you know this._

_No._

_Then use your magic. Prove me wrong._

_NO!_

The druid sent him a scream of rage, and Merlin pulled himself into a tighter ball, gathering his strength to send a command to the man who was leeching away at his very soul.

_Get out._

_You cannot banish me from your head, Emrys. I will not leave. And there is not a thing you can do about it._

"GET OUT!" he screamed, flinging his head back at the force of it.

His head suddenly became silent, and Merlin sagged with relief. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings, and of the presence of two men. Arthur was still in the room, looking grim, and holding a frightened-looking Gaius firmly within his grasp.

The warlock slowly released his grip on his head, and lowered shaking fingers to his knees.

"Merlin... are you alright?" whispered his guardian.

"Yeah. I-I'm fine."

Arthur released his hold on the old man, and Merlin was immediately – and firmly – examined by the worried physician. The warlock submitted to the examination quietly, though he couldn't help the hiss that he let slip while the old man gently prodded his skull.

"Headache's still there, then. The stronger medicine is all but ready; I just need to keep it boiling for a further ten minutes or so."

"Thank you, Gaius."

Gaius patted his hand and, after sending a searching look at his ward, left the room, leaving Merlin alone with what was plainly a confused – and very _curious_ – Arthur.

The blonde waited for a moment, before walking towards the door and clicking it softly shut. Merlin watched him closely, but quickly averted his eyes when his friend turned to face him.

He did not _want_ Arthur there. His head was still pounding, and Mordred's words were still too fresh in his mind, taunting him with thoughts and fears that he had always managed to repress before now. He did _not_ want to be in the same room as Arthur at the moment; he was too scared of what he might do or say.

He was scared that he wouldn't be able to resist trying to warn the king about the very real threat that Mordred now posed; he wasn't sure he could handle another attack of telepathic pain so soon after the last one. He was terrified that he might give in to his temptation to use his magic after all, if only to reassure himself that the druid was feeding him nothing but lies. And he was deathly afraid that he would be proved wrong, and that his magic was no longer under his control.

Most of all he was scared that the man before him – his friend – would turn into that nightmarish figure from his dream; the man who had chased him with nothing but revenge and murder on his mind.

His mind was twisted into knots, and though part of him knew that this was _exactly_ what the grief-stricken druid wanted, he couldn't escape the fear that Mordred had so skilfully instilled in him. He lowered his gaze, still avoiding the king's eyes, and couldn't stop himself from flinching slightly at the sound of a chair being dragged closer to his bed.

"What just happened? And _don't_ tell me it was nothing. I expected to find you resting, not thrashing about in your bed. And certainly not frightening the life out of Gaius, either."

"I... it's a headache, my lord."

"_My lord?_ Now I _know_ you're lying."

"It really is just a headache."

"And yet you managed to cause quite a stir in the courtyard. I heard tales of shaking and collapsing; and as we speak, there is a servant who is, I'm sure, still struggling to clean up the mess that you left on the floor."

The warlock darted a look at his friend, then returned his gaze to the fingers that were twisting in his lap.

"I'm just a little under the weather, that's all. It will pass." _Lords, how he hoped it would pass_. "Was there something you wanted, Arthur? Other than scolding me for creating more work for the servants, that is."

The king sighed.

"I'm not _scolding_ you, Merlin. It's clear that you are unwell. In fact, if my reason for speaking to you wasn't so important, I would gladly leave you to recover from your... _headache_."

The significant pause was not lost on the warlock, and he covered his wince with a cough. Arthur tapped his fingers against the side of his chair, but when it became clear that Merlin wasn't going to say anything more, he sighed again.

"I needed to speak to you about Mordred."

_Oh Gods, no. Not now. Please, Arthur..._

"I want to know why you've never warmed to him. It's not _like _you not to give someone a fair chance, and yet you have never been more than cordial with the boy. I want to know why."

Merlin had to clamp down on his absurd desire to laugh. He'd been trying to keep Arthur from getting too close to the druid for _months_, and had voiced on more than one occasion his fears that perhaps the king was becoming too fond of the young knight; that maybe Arthur should be a little more cautious around a man who had, up until recently, been a stranger to them.

And now – when it appeared that the king was _finally_ ready to listen to Merlin's counsel - the warlock was unable to even utter the druid's name.

"Well?" prompted the blonde.

Merlin shrugged nervously.

"Silence? From _you_?"

"The headache, sire... it pains me to speak." _Please, Arthur, just leave it be._

"I wouldn't ask for your opinion while you are so clearly ill, except that this is_ important_, Merlin. I want to know why you've never befriended the boy. It seems to me like you've made a friend of every person in Camelot – heaven knows the maids in the courtyard were practically weeping with concern over you just this morning – so how is it that the boy who has charmed even the crustiest of my knights, has_ failed_ to gain your friendship?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"No."

"Look at me. Look me in the eye, and swear that you are telling me the truth."

"Arthur..."

"Look at me!"

Merlin raised his eyes and met the gaze of the king, praying that his friend would believe the lie that he was about to utter, for as much as he wanted to scream out a warning to his friend, he knew that he would not be able to do so. Even now, he could feel the druid hovering on the edge of his thoughts, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

"We got off on the wrong foot... at Ismere. We quarrelled, and we just... never made it up, I suppose."

"I don't believe you."

"But it's true!"

"Then why are you staring at your hands again?"

"It's ... complicated. Please Arthur, don't ask me to explain. I _can't_ explain. You wouldn't understand."

"Then _make_ me understand! For I sure as hell don't understand anything _else_ at the moment!"

"Arthur..."

"The man's _life_ is in the balance, Merlin. I seem to recall being in a similar situation not so long ago, and it concerned the _same_ man. What would you have me do? Would you have him die, as you advised before? Or would you preach leniency to me, as you did so only yesterday? This _morning_, even?"

Merlin could feel the pressure building in his head again, and he stumbled from his bed and began to pace, clutching his head in readiness for the pain that he knew was coming. Mordred was already whispering to him, warning him to keep his silence...

"Well?" demanded the king.

"I don't know!"

"Merlin... look, I can see that you're still ill," said the blonde with what was clearly repressed frustration. "But all I'm asking you for is a reason why you have always questioned the loyalty of Mordred. Because it has become increasingly clear to me that you harbour more than mere doubts about him. You've _never_ trusted him, have you? And I need to know why."

Merlin shook his head violently, and continued to pace.

"Just go, Arthur, _please_... let it go. It doesn't matter anymore."

"I _will_ go. Just as soon as you answer my question."

"_I can't!_"

"Just answer the _damned_ question, Merlin!"

The warlock, so intent on avoiding the king's eyes, didn't realise that the blonde had softly risen from his seat, and he had to bite back a scream when he felt angry fingers grip his shoulders and turn him around.

Arthur's face was twisted with frustration, and Merlin didn't see his friend, he saw the man from his dream; a man whose arms were raised in the same position as the legs of the horse that had kicked him so violently.

"Get AWAY!" he cried. "Keep away from me!"

"Merlin? What..?"

The warlock thrust himself away from the king, and landed heavily against the unyielding wall behind him. His breath was knocked out of him, and he slowly sank to the floor, trying desperately to recover some air.

_See. I told you. Look at how afraid of him you truly are..._

"GET OUT!" he screamed.

_The mighty Emrys, cowered by the anger of a mere man. I'm almost disappointed._

"GET OUT! OUT! OUT! _OUT_!"

Merlin threw his head against the wall with every word that he screamed, needing the physical pain to distract him from the fire that was raging through his mind. Mordred was _laughing_, and it was somehow more agonizing than the screams of anguish from before.

"Merlin, what are you doing... dear lord, stop it, you're _bleeding_..."

But Merlin couldn't stop. He heard the words of a friend, but all he could see was a man who was intent on killing him. He knew he was being irrational, but it was as if he was floating above himself; forced to watch, but powerless to do anything.

He could feel a warm stickiness trickling down his neck, and he knew he was moments away from passing out; but still he continued to thrash wildly, his earlier screams reduced to whispers as his strength weakened with every blow to his head.

"Out. Get out. Get out..." he mumbled, and just before darkness claimed him, he thought he heard his name being called, though he was too far gone to be able to distinguish whether it was spoken aloud, or merely in his head...

And he realised that he was beyond caring either way.


	4. Misunderstandings

**Hello! Sorry for the wee delay, but I had a small family matter take my attention away for the last few days, so I couldn't concentrate on writing. Thanks so much to everyone who had supported this story so far! I'm humbled that my first attempt at whump seems to be working out. *grins* And I want to say a special 'thank you' to MildeAmasoj, who has made a _stunning_ book cover for this fic! *points at cover* Isn't it _gorgeous_? *melts***

**And I also want to point you in the direction of another fic. Vaughntronic (the reader who gave me the prompt for this story) has started a story from one of her _other_ prompt suggestions, and it's looking to be a wonderful, angsty read. You should _totally_ check it out!**

**And now for the new chapter, and despite my wishing otherwise, I still have to admit to not owning Merlin, or any of the other gorgeous characters from this show. *sighs***

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><p>When Arthur had first entered Merlin's room, all the air had been sucked from his lungs, and he'd been rooted to the spot. To see Gaius in such a panic – the man who was always so calm even in the <em>worst<em> of situations – had been shocking enough, but it was the sight of _Merlin_ that had made him momentarily lose the power of speech. The king didn't think he had ever seen anyone as frightened-looking as his friend had at that moment, though it was perhaps even more unnerving to witness not just the sheer _terror_ on Merlin's face, but the fact that the man was in near danger of choking to death.

It was only when Merlin had drawn in great gulps of air that Arthur's throat had unlocked, and he'd demanded to know what was going on, only to be sent spiralling back to speechlessness when his friend had lost control of his breathing again.

A loss of control that was apparently due to the king's presence.

What had followed had been perhaps some of the most disturbing few minutes that Arthur had ever experienced. He'd still been reeling at the thought of causing such distress – _why the hell had Merlin reacted so badly to his presence? _– and aside from instinctively clutching at Gaius to prevent the older man from possibly getting hurt, he hadn't been able to do anything more than watch, stunned, as Merlin had rocked back and forth, clutching and tearing at his head as if he were a madman.

It had been a terrible thing to witness, but as Arthur was yet again struck dumb and frozen to the core at the scene now unfolding before his eyes, he found himself wishing that Merlin was back on his bed again, even if the man _had_ been acting crazy. Because rocking backwards and forwards on a soft mattress was a _thousand_ times preferable to repeatedly bashing your head against a solid wall of stone.

_Dear Gods, he was going to kill himself..._

The seriousness of the situation suddenly slammed into Arthur's brain, and he unglued his feet from the floor and rushed forwards, reaching out to grab Merlin's shoulders, intending to drag him away from the wall that was starting to show sickening traces of blood.

"Merlin, what are you doing... dear lord, stop it, you're _bleeding_..." he muttered.

But Merlin shrunk back from him, and continued to attack the wall with his head – or was that attack his _head_ with the _wall_? Arthur couldn't even _begin_ to understand – and babbled, his words becoming softer and softer as the toll of his actions caught up with him. When the man's eyes rolled back and his entire body slumped, Arthur was both relieved, and absolutely petrified.

"MERLIN!"

"_Sire_!"

Arthur was in the process of gingerly feeling for the damage to Merlin's skull when he heard the shocked whisper from the physician, and he snapped his head around, finding himself facing a somewhat accusing glare from the old man.

"I... Gaius, _help_ me with him..."

Between them – with Arthur taking Merlin's full weight, and Gaius carefully supporting his head – they carried the unconscious man back to his bed, laying him on his side so that Gaius could examine the fresh wounds to his ward. Arthur tried to help, but his hands were thrust away impatiently while the physician gently probed the injured area.

"I heard _screaming_, Arthur... why was Merlin _yelling_ at you? What did you _do_ to him?"

"_Gaius_," he said, taking a step back, the directions of the other man's thoughts becoming clear as he noted the way Gaius frowned at the blood on Arthur's hands. "You _cannot _believe that I... this wasn't _me_. This was...this was _Merlin_!"

Arthur followed the path of the physician's gaze, and blinked stupidly at his fingers, turning them over and taking stock of the red stickiness covering them. He swallowed down bile, unable to comprehend the damage Merlin had done to himself, and glanced at the pale form of his friend.

"Will he be alright?"

"I don't know. The wound is confined to one area, but because head wounds are notorious for bleeding excessively, I am not sure how bad it really is. Tell me what happened, and quickly."

Arthur immediately complied, feeling a little sick as he briefly explained what had happened. Gaius became paler with every detail that he heard, and by the time Arthur was describing the way Merlin had repeatedly smashed his own head against solid stone, the old man was whiter than the wall that was responsible for Merlin's current physical state.

Except that the wall wasn't so white anymore; it had traces of crimson marring it, traces of crimson that were still clinging to Arthur's fingers.

The king looked at his hands again, and was once more filled with a feeling of nausea.

With a new sense of urgency, Gaius began checking over his ward in earnest. Arthur took a hesitant step forward, and was relieved to note that he wasn't thrust away this time, and he did all that he could to help, though admittedly it wasn't much. Still, Gaius seemed grateful for the extra pair of hands, even if they were in the same shaking condition that his _own_ were.

By the time the wound had been cleaned and dressed, Arthur's shock had receded enough for him to begin to ask questions, though it seemed that Gaius was as much in the dark about Merlin's condition as _he_ was.

"We shall have to wait, sire," he sighed. "I've stitched the wound, and the bleeding has thankfully stopped. The outside damage should be limited, but there's no knowing what's going on _inside_."

"What could have caused him to do it?"

"Well, he was suffering from a particularly severe headache; pain can do funny things to the mind."

"That wasn't just _pain_, Gaius; Merlin was completely delusional!"

The older man looked at his ward, and chewed his lip thoughtfully before replying.

"It is possible, of course, that the episode was induced by fever. It's been well documented how a fevered brain can cause all _kinds_ of strange behaviour."

"You think this was caused by a _fever_?"

Arthur was not entirely convinced, but he was willing to believe anything that Gaius said, simply because there _had _to be logical reason for Merlin to behave so irrationally. He had to believe there was something medical underlying it all, for while Arthur may have been stunned into immobility at the time, his brain had been busy trying to understand what was possibly the most disturbing aspect of all; the undeniable fact that Merlin had been _scared_ of him. Merlin, who joked and teased, and never failed to bring Arthur down a peg or two when he thought it was needed, had been absolutely _terrified_ of him.

"Gaius, I've brought you those... _Merlin_! What's going on?"

"Ah, Gwaine, thank you," said Gaius, reaching for the herbs that Gwaine was apparently about to throw unceremoniously on the floor. "_I'll_ take those; I'm going to need them to make a blood-strengthening tincture, not to mention another batch of medicine for Merlin's headache."

The knight may have heard the words, but he was obviously too busy inspecting his friend to be bothered with answering. Arthur watched as the hot-headed knight took in the bandages on Merlin's head, and then lifted his eyes, unerringly homing in on the blood on Arthur's hands. The older knight scowled, allowed his gaze to wander a little more, and inevitably spotted the drying blood stain on the wall.

"There had better be a _damned_ good explanation for all this, _Princess_, or there's going to be few more red stains added to that wall."

"Why do you assume that this had _anything_ to do with me? How _dare_ you!" he snapped.

"_Really_," Gwaine spat out, "because Gaius being the attacker is _so_ much the better explanation, _obviously_. When I left – less than_ an hour_ ago – to collect herbs, Merlin was sleeping. Not in the _best_ of conditions, no, but he at least wasn't covered in blood-soaked bandages."

"And you think _I_ did this?" cried Arthur incredulously.

"Come on, Arthur. You're covered in blood, and I know you've been here for at least half an hour. I saw Mary, and she told me you were headed this way."

"Mary?"

"One of the kitchen wenches."

_Ah. One of those gossiping servants._

"If it wasn't for the fact that you're a loyal knight, and that I know you have a fondness for Merlin that sometimes makes you speak before you think, I would have you thrown in a cell right now, _Sir_ Gwaine."

"Sire..."

"Not now, Gaius, this does _not_ concern you."

Gwaine slowly walked around the edge of Merlin's bed, his hand resting comfortably on his sword, and paused a scant few inches in front of Arthur, fixing the king with a hard stare.

"Throw me in a cell, _Princess_. Or _try _to. But not before you tell me what happened," he said softly, his tone completely at odds with the not-so-hidden threat in his words.

Arthur was battling with an urge to strike at the man in front of him, but he forced himself to breathe deeply, and to remember that Gwaine was just trying to protect his friend.

"I don't know _what_ happened," he said flatly. "One minute we were discussing Mordred, the next, Merlin started to... I don't know... _panic_."

"You were just _talking?_"

"Yes."

"You didn't lay a single finger on him?"

"No! Well..."

"_Arthur_," the knight took a step closer, and was almost nose to nose with the king. "Either you _didn't _touch him, or you _did_."

It was a mark of how completely off-balance Arthur still felt that he didn't attack the man who even _dared_ to look at him with such menace in his eyes. He felt himself swell with barely-suppressed rage, and returned the look with as much, if not more, fire of his own.

"I grabbed his _shoulders_, Gwaine. I was trying to get him to answer a question, but he was refusing to do it. If _anyone_ is to be accused of attacking someone, then it is the man you are so determined to protect."

Gwaine backed down just a little, though he still didn't look away. He frowned, an unspoken question hovering on his lips, and Arthur answered it before it had chance to be uttered.

"Merlin did this to _himself_."

Then followed another lengthy explanation, with input from both the king _and_ Gaius, and after checking to make sure that Merlin was resting comfortably, the three men exited the room and continued their discussion in the physician's chambers. Between the three of them, they managed to piece together the events of the previous few hours, and though they were unsure of exactly_ what_ it was that was ailing the young man currently sleeping, they all agreed that the situation called for perhaps a little more than the usual monitoring of a sick person. Gaius immediately confirmed that he would not leave his ward's side for anything longer than the time needed to prepare his medicines, while Gwaine insisted that he would remain with his friend, too.

Arthur was glad of this, for though Gwaine had angered him almost beyond belief not minutes before, he was aware that there was no other person who he would prefer to leave with his stricken friend, and would have insisted on Gwaine remaining even if the man hadn't suggested it himself.

Leaving instructions to be informed of any changes to Merlin's condition, Arthur reluctantly took his leave. He had no clear idea of what to do next, but he at least needed to clean himself up. Merlin's blood had dried on his fingers, and he had to resist the urge to grab at something – _anything_ – to scrub the offending stains from them. He had a feeling that if he allowed his distress to be displayed so openly, he would be in danger of losing the iron grip on the control that was threatening to shatter.

As he made his way back to his chambers, his stomach began to clench once more as he mulled over the morning's events. He recalled the strange feeeling of hearing what was the impossible sound of a young girl's neck snapping, and remembered seeing Merlin's head drop forward at the exact same moment. He pictured Mordred's face, both blank, but full of some unfathomable emotion. He heard again the words of the gossiping maidservants, and saw the woman scrubbing at the stinking mess on the floor.

And he saw Merlin, hiding his face in his hands as he rocked on his bed, muttering incoherently under his breath; saw how the other man had avoided his gaze, and kept his eyes fixed on hands that were still visibly shaking from his outburst.

Merlin was hiding something, _that_ much was clear. And it had something to do with Mordred. But whether this was in any way linked to the present state of his manservant, Arthur had no idea. It was likely that the two things were merely coincidence. At least, that's what he told himself. It was entirely possible that Arthur had merely picked an extremely unfortunate time to practically interrogate his obviously ill servant. In fact, the explanation had a good deal of merit.

But he couldn't deny that his earlier feelings of unease had returned with a little more force; he couldn't dismiss the possibility that The Disir's warnings had been more serious than he had given them credit for. The earlier churning of his stomach had spread, and he could feel his chest tighten with an unknown dread.

He could not help but think that the druid girl's death and Merlin's collapse were somehow linked, though how that might be possible was beyond him. As far as he knew, Merlin had not known the girl previously, and while his friend had pleaded for mercy on the girl's behalf, Arthur was somehow certain that it was _more_ than just concern for her life that had been behind the heartfelt plea.

And there was that... _something_... that was between Merlin and Mordred. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was an animosity there that Arthur had never considered before now. Merlin had spouted what was obviously a hastily concocted lie about a previous row with the young knight, and while there might have been a small grain of truth in that lie, the fact that Merlin was so adamant about not revealing anything else was extremely telling.

He needed to speak with his servant again, obviously.

It wasn't until he was sat in his bath an hour or so later, though – having summoned George to fill it for him, and been reminded forcibly of why he rarely summoned the starched servant when the annoyingly proper young man refused to speak with him, and kept his eyes lowered submissively – that Arthur began to reflect on something that had been bothering him ever since he'd helped Gaius to clean up Merlin's wounds.

Gaius had looked uneasy, and at the time, Arthur had put it down to the obvious concern that the physician was bound to be feeling; but now that he looked back on it, he was visited with the feeling of there being something not quite _right _about the old man's expression. Gaius had been worried – they_ both_ had been worried – and that was understandable, given the circumstances; but there had been more than worry in those wizened eyes. There had been panic. And there was that almost _desperate_ explanation, that of _fever_ being responsible for Merlin's extraordinarily violent actions; responsible for the way that Merlin had battered himself senseless in his maddened state.

Because while Gaius was a skilled and trusted physician, and was usually to be believed when he made a diagnosis, his friend's guardian was missing one important little detail. Fever usually translated to a fire burning in the afflicted person's flesh, and while Arthur had been helping to bandage the wound on Merlin's head, he had inadvertently touched the other man's skin numerous times.

Far from burning with fever, Merlin had felt deathly cold.

There _was_ no fever, and having examined his ward himself, Gaius _knew_ this. Which meant that Merlin wasn't the _only_ person who had lied to him that day.


	5. Cataclysm

**Woot! Two chapters in two days! I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance yet to reply to the _awesome_ reviews for the previous chapter, but I've read and appreciated every single one! I tend to ramble, and I knew that if I got sucked into replying to all you lovely people, I wouldn't be able to finish this chapter today. I promise I'll get replies out for each and every review that was left for me. *pinky swears* Anyway, I'll do my best to get another chapter posted during the week, but it's quite likely to be the weekend again before anything is ready. *curses day job* This is another reason why I put off replying to reviews today... I just wanted to get something new posted for you. (Um, see... THIS is what I mean by tending towards rambling).**

**Anyway, here's Merlin again. And whump. And possibly something that may turn your stomach a bit at the end... *shifty* I honestly had no idea how twisted my brain was before this fic. It's somewhat disturbing, actually. Heh.**

**I don't own Merlin. If I did, he'd probably lock me up in a dungeon or something. (Ooh, now _there's_ a thought...)**

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><p>When awareness returned to him, Merlin was immediately conscious of the fact that his head felt blessedly empty of the foreignness of Mordred's presence. His head felt completely normal, in fact; so much so that he wondered if he had imagined the whole nightmarish situation.<p>

Then he opened his eyes and tried to move, and pain slammed into him with such force that he couldn't help the whimper that rose in this throat. He gingerly reached up to feel his head, and discovered a thick padding that _definitely_ hadn't been there before.

"Ah, Merlin, decided to stop being lazy, did you?"

The false cheeriness in Gwaine's voice alerted him to the fact that the knight was extremely concerned, and Merlin wondered what had happened to make his normally jovial friend sound so worried.

He tried to recall what had occurred before, but all he could remember were brief flashes, and those flashes didn't make _any_ sense at all. He'd been terrified of something, but he couldn't remember _what_. And _surely_ the image of Arthur with his arms angrily raised was a figment of his imagination. Arthur would _never_ raise his hands to him, not seriously; not enough for Merlin to feel _threatened_ by him...

"What happened?" he whispered.

"Well, Merlin, you appear to have had an altercation with an immoveable object."

"What?"

Gwaine had that odd mix of cheeriness and concern in his voice as he got up from the stool he had been sitting on, and walked over to Merlin, leaning forward slightly to wag a finger at him.

"You know mate, it might be better in future if you picked an opponent that was slightly softer than solid stone."

Merlin still didn't have a clue what Gwaine was talking about. _Solid stone?_ Gwaine frowned and leaned closer, making Merlin squirm slightly as he found himself fixed with a suddenly shrewd gaze from his friend.

"You don't remember anything, do you? Well. That makes things a little tricky, I have to admit. I was hoping you could tell me exactly what happened."

"I-I don't know. Gwaine...? What do you mean by _solid stone_?"

The knight rubbed his hands across his face and sighed, before reaching for the stool that he had just vacated. Placing it level with the head of the bed, he sat back down and resumed his careful scrutiny of Merlin.

"I really hoped you would remember. Princess told me what happened, and while I believed him, I wanted you to confirm it for yourself. Merlin... Arthur said that you were raving like a _madman_. He said..."

"What? _Gwaine_? What did he say?"

"He said that you smashed your head against the wall. And not just once, but repeatedly. Merlin... why would you _do_ that?"

Merlin reached up to feel the bandages on his skull again, wincing as he probed the area with his fingers. _He'd done this to himself?_

"I don't know," he said blankly. "I can't remember."

"How do you feel now?"

"Sore."

"And your headache?"

"Gone. Well... my head still hurts, but it's a different pain to what I had before."

"Hmm, that would be the wall, I'm thinking. Honestly, mate, you don't do things in half measures, do you?"

"Apparently not."

"Well, I'm going to get Gaius. He's mixing up a vile tasting brew as we speak, and I'm sure he'll be itching to get it down your neck once he knows you're awake."

"Thanks," he said dryly.

"You're entirely welcome, mate. Any time I can get someone _else_ to drink one of his foul potions is a balm for my poor abused taste buds."

The knight grinned as he stood up, and paused to briefly grip Merlin's shoulder. Merlin watched his friend leave the room with mixed feelings. Part of him was glad for the opportunity to be alone for a minute or two, while another part of him was feeling faintly panicky for the exact same reason.

He tried to swallow his fears, but discovered that his mouth was far too dry for the action. Without pausing for thought, he reached out and tried to whisper a summoning spell for the water that was resting on the table just out of his reach. Like before, he found that the words in his brain somehow lost their way on the journey to his mouth, only this time there was no pain to accompany his loss of speech. Frowning, he tried to use his magic silently, visualizing the spell in his head, and concentrating on the cup.

_Strangath._

The cup did little more than wobble slightly, but Merlin was encouraged, though slightly perturbed at a sudden buzzing noise in his head.

_Strangath!_

The buzzing grew louder, and was joined by a slight itching sensation, like there were a thousand ants stirring into wakefulness after a restful slumber. More than concerned now, Merlin placed all of his focus on the silent spell, and willed the cup to move with everything that he had in him.

_STRANGATH!_

The cup shattered, sending splinters of wood flying, and exploding its contents into the air, powerfully enough to splash against Merlin's now heavily perspiring brow. The coolness of the liquid might have been a relief, but Merlin could not tell, as he was too busy trying to scratch his head. The slight itching had suddenly become far more insistent, and what had been a vague irritation had now become much more than that.

Realising that his fingers could do nothing to alleviate the horrible sensation, he forced himself to still his hands, and inhaled deeply, concentrating on his breathing to distract himself. _In. Out. In. Out. Like Gaius said. In. Out. In. Out. _The buzzing died off, and Merlin was relieved to discover that the itching had _also_ subsided.

The relief quickly became submerged under a fresh wave of horror, though, as Mordred's earlier words trickled through his mind...

_The magic is not gone from you, Emrys; it just isn't yours to command any more._

It appeared that the druid had not been lying; Merlin still had his magic – he could feel it thrumming though his veins as much as he ever did – but it was no longer under his control. Tentatively, he searched inside himself for the flow of magic that usually pulsed in time with his blood, and he was dismayed to discover that while he could still feel it, it felt muted somehow; _dulled_. He was amazed that he hadn't noticed it before, now that he thought about it; it felt so obviously _wrong_.

Though perhaps the headaches and partial smashing of his head might have had something to do with his being oblivious to it, he thought, somewhat hysterically. It was as this thought floated through his mind that he recognised the nauseating sensation of something poking at his thoughts; something that teased at him, hovering on the edge of his consciousness, taunting him with the threat of pain...

Mordred.

Merlin braced himself for the onslaught that he thought was coming to him, but after a few tense moments, he understood that pain wasn't the current plan of the druid knight. No, Mordred was laughing softly; soft enough that Merlin was almost convinced he was imagining it. _Almost_.

Then he felt his magic pulsing behind his eyes, and he realised what it was that Mordred intended. His magic began to build inside of him, and he knew that whatever was about to happen, he had absolutely _no _control over it. He tried to quash the power rising within him, knowing that he was about to unleash something that would probably make his already dire situation become infinitely worse...

Because even as he struggled, he could hear footsteps approaching his room; and he could hear _voices_.

Gauis. And _Gwaine_.

Frantic now, he tried in vain to plead with his tormentor to cease this madness, but Mordred merely continued to laugh, and Merlin knew that his pleas were just making things worse; that his desperate attempts to persuade the druid to change his mind was merely fuelling Mordred's desire to continue. His magic rose even higher, and his body shook with the effort of trying to hold it at bay. Dimly he realised that his nose had started to bleed, but that was a small, trifling matter...he'd gladly suffer a _hundred _nosebleeds so long as he could stop the waves of magic that were crashing through him from suddenly escaping his grasp...

The window was the first thing to shatter, and the shards of glass that were suddenly flung inwards mixed with the array of items that had arisen from their homes, and had begun to spin wildly through the air in a whirlwind of chaos. Merlin could do no more than throw his arms over his head to protect himself from the magical tornado, and croak out a strangled warning to the two men who had burst through the door.

"Get out! I can't stop it! _GO_!"

"Merlin!"

"Gaius! GO!"

Merlin found himself grasped within a pair of strong arms, and was lifted from his bed. His head bounced painfully against a solid back as Gwaine ran from the room, oblivious to the fragments of glass that Merlin knew was attacking them with an unnerving precision. He vaguely heard the slamming of a door, and felt himself being lowered onto something soft.

"Gwaine, quickly... fetch me some water and some cloths."

"What the _hell_ was that?"

"Gwaine, please... this isn't the time for questions!"

"Gaius... I couldn't stop it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"Hush, my boy. Let me see to those cuts."

"But Gwaine..."

"Don't worry, everything will be fine."

"He _saw_."

"Hush."

But his guardian's gentle words did little to soothe him. He felt his breath coming in short bursts, and knew he was about to hyperventilate. He could still hear Mordred laughing cruelly; mocking him, _taunting_ him wickedly. Letting him know that he was losing the battle, and that soon he would be losing even more...

_You are almost too easy a conquest, Emrys. I would never have believed you could be controlled with so little effort._

_Mordred... end this. What do you hope to achieve from it? Kara is gone, and I am sorry for it. But it was not of my doing..._

_You are as much to blame for her death as your precious Arthur is, Emrys!_

_No... no... he offered leniency! He did! But Kara would not back down..._

_It matters not. Kara is dead, and her death will be avenged._

_You must leave Arthur alone. This is not his fault. You know it's not. _

_Oh, I have no intention of harming even an inch of your Once and Future King, Emrys. No, there is another way of destroying him. I don't need to spill even one drop of his arrogant blood. Once he finds out about your years of lies and betrayal, he will be a broken man. And you won't be around to fix him..._

_I won't leave his side!_

_Maybe not. Not willingly. But there is little you can do beyond the flames of a pyre._

_No. Arthur would not do that. He would not burn me... you're wrong..._

_Am I?_

Suddenly Merlin was thrust back into a nightmare, only this time there was no darkness of night, and no icy river rushing over his head. This time there was only bright, blinding light, and a pain that he had never felt before. He looked down with horror at the flames creeping slowly up his legs; the acrid smell of burning flesh was filling his nose, and making his eyes sting, and even as he choked on the smoke invading his lungs, he could hear Arthur in the distance, coldly reciting the long list of crimes that his ex-servant was being burned for...

"No... stop... this isn't real. It's not _real_!" he whispered. The flames disappeared as swiftly as they had arrived, but not so the voice of his tormentor.

_You see? Just the merest hint of a suggestion, and your weakness of mind does all of the hard work for me._

"What was that, Merlin? I can't hear you."

"Make it stop... please, Gaius, make it _stop_..."

_The old man can't help you; no-one can help you. It's just you and me, and you are weak, Emrys, weaker even than I'd thought._

"No. I'll fight you; you know I will. I won't let you win."

"What's he talking about?"

"I don't know... he's in and out of it. I'm not sure that he's fully with us."

"Can't he... you know..."

"Can't he _what_, Gwaine?"

"Look, it's obvious that Merlin here has magic-"

Merlin made a sound of distress deep in his throat, but felt a hand gently squeeze his shoulder.

"Hush, Merlin. I'm not about to run you through with my sword. Though we'll be having some words later on, never you fear."

"I'm sorry..." he whispered.

"You can _apologise_ later, too. Right now we need to clean you up; more importantly, we need to clean up your room. We sent for Arthur just before you had your little magical tantrum, and while I am proud to say that it only took me a minute or two to realise that you had magic – which I think is bloody fantastic, by the way – I have a feeling that it will take a little longer for the Princess to acclimatise himself to it."

Merlin sprang up from his lying position, and grabbed at Gwaine's arm.

"_Arthur is on his way_?"

"Merlin..."

"He can't see me like this! He _can't_!"

"Merlin, calm down, we have a little time before he gets here."

"No... Gaius... you don't understand..."

"I know you're scared, but it will be alright. We can clean everything before he arrives. You just need to concentrate."

"I can't!"

"Merlin, Gaius is right. Take a few breaths and calm down. We'll make sure Arthur doesn't find you like this..."

Merlin pulled at his hair with frustration, forgetting that half of his head was protected by bandages, and inadvertently unravelling the bindings. He could hear Gaius and Gwaine whispering urgently over his head, but only managed to catch a few words of their conversation.

"_... always like this?"_

"_... doesn't like lying... no choice... protect the King..."_

"_... hell... need to hide... will never understand like this..."_

"Stop! Stop it! There's no _time_!"

"Gwaine, get him out of here."

"What?"

_Yes. What? No! Where was he supposed to go?_

"No. It's not safe. _I'm_ not safe."

"Don't be foolish, boy! You're barely in control of your magic, and Arthur could be here at any moment. We need to get you out of the way."

"No... no, just put me back in my room. I can't go outside... there's no telling what -"

Merlin felt the stab of pain in his head almost before it happened, and he cursed himself for his stupidity. In his panic, he'd forgotten that Mordred was with him, and that the druid would stop him from uttering his name with the swiftness of a hand clamping around his throat. He waited for the pain to increase, but for the second time that day he was surprised by the absence of it.

And then his magic started to rise again, and panic returned to him with a frenzied speed as he tried desperately to push his power back down as deeply as it would go. He could feel his mind being pulled two different ways; a tug of rope between a desperate man and a vengeful one. His magic was just beyond his reach, teasing him with its proximity... he just needed to pull a little bit harder... just a little bit more...Suddenly he had it. Mordred screamed an angry denial, and Merlin almost shouted with triumph... but then the struggle turned against him once more, and his magic began to escape from his grasp.

And then the itching began; that horrible, _crawling_ sensation that made him want to rip at his scalp and remove that feeling of thousands of ants scurrying across it. It was somehow worse than the pain of his earlier headaches, though even as he thought this, he realised that his head was beginning to pound again.

He clawed at his head, and didn't notice that two pairs of arms were trying to restrain him. He only recognised several new points of discomfort, for even as the hands of his friends tried to help him, Merlin was fighting against the horror of what was happening to him... because the itching was no longer confined to his head; it was spreading through his body like the flames of his nightmare, and every inch of his skin burned with irritation.

He no longer clawed at his head; he clawed at his entire body. His vision began to blur, and as he looked down on himself, he could have sworn he saw the ants of his imagination crawling all over him...

_Ye gods, they were everywhere..._

His breath started coming in gasps, and everything around him seemed to mix and blur together in a mass of confusion; he couldn't hear properly, and all he could see were the ants, which were now racing up his body towards his face, seeping into his silently screaming mouth, choking him with terror...

And then his eyes finally fixed upon something that was enough to make him scream out loud, despite the suffocating presence of what had filled his mouth.

Arthur was here. And his mouth was gaping in a parody of the scream that Merlin had just released.


	6. Manipulation

***waves white flag warily* I'm _so sorry_ that it has been 11 days since the last update. *hangs head in shame* This is the longest I've gone between updates since I started posting Merlin fic, and I truly feel bad about the length of time between these chapters. Needless to say, I had major stumbling blocks with this chapter. But the _good_ news is that the next chapter shouldn't be nearly so hard to write, as I have a good idea of what needs to be covered. Anywho... my apologies once again for my tardiness. **

**I only own Merlin in my imagination, which, frankly, is probably better for Merlin, as my imagination tends to lurk in the gutter most of the time. *coughs***

* * *

><p>Arthur paced in his chambers, his mind still buzzing with all of the events of the past few hours. He was struggling to comprehend everything that had occurred since he had woken that morning, and was somewhat bewildered at the fact that it was only a little past noon, for surely too much had happened for it to still be so early in the day.<p>

Perhaps he felt the hours so keenly because he'd had little sleep the previous night; so little rest that he'd given up trying to sleep, and had arisen long before the pink tinges of dawn had touched the sky. His brain felt fuzzy with all of the thoughts that were whirling around inside of it, and several images kept fighting for his attention, as if they were pleading with him to make sense of everything that was happening.

But he_ couldn't_ make sense of them. He was no closer to understanding them than he had been during his restless night of tossing and turning. He'd had a sense of foreboding over his decision of the druid girl's fate from the moment he had condemned her to death; his head had firmly believed that he was doing the right thing, but his heart had persisted to poke and prod at him, telling him that he was making the wrong choice; that in making that choice, he was somehow setting himself on a path that would be impossible to turn away from.

Merlin had warned him, of course, and it was perhaps this that troubled Arthur the most. He had a horrible feeling that the reason his friend was currently lying in bed with his head heavily bandaged was somehow linked to the decision of executing Kara. Quite how it was linked, Arthur had no idea, but it was too much of a coincidence for him to dismiss the possibility. It was incredibly frustrating to have this feeling of certainty, but to not know _why _he was feeling it.

The most frustrating thing of all, though, was that usually his instinct would be to ask _Merlin_ for his thoughts on whatever was bothering him, and of course Merlin was the one person that he _couldn't _ask this time – not least because the man in question was at this moment still deeply unconscious after his violent confrontation with a wall.

Guinevere, naturally, was the next person he thought of to confide his concerns to, but though he trusted his wife's usually wise counsel, something held him back. A big part of him wanted to spare her from the anxiety that would undoubtedly arise when she learned of Merlin's condition, but there was also the part of him that understood that even Guinevere – wise as she was – couldn't help him when he didn't exactly know what it was that was worrying him so much.

And Gaius... well, Gaius had lied to him today, without a doubt. The old physician had always been a rock to Arthur; someone who could be relied upon to provide a steadying hand along with wise words, someone who was always the voice of reason. It was disconcerting to realise how easily Gaius had lied, and disturbing to note that had he not been helping the old man, Arthur would never have doubted his word. It made him wonder how many times Gaius had lied in the past, a thought that was almost as sickening as the image of Merlin brutally battering his head against a wall.

All of his usual avenues of support were sadly missing, and so he found himself thinking of the only other person who might be able to shed light on the disturbing events of the morning. Just as Merlin seemed to be at the centre of everything that was going on, it appeared that Mordred was also a crucial piece of the puzzle. The problem there, of course, was that Mordred was being as tight-lipped at the moment as Merlin was; and Arthur had a feeling that the boy would remain close-mouthed if he so much as _hinted_ at the possibility of Kara having anything to do with Merlin's apparent descent into madness.

For madness was what it was, surely. Nothing _else_ could explain how a man would do so much damage to himself so willingly. Though again, just as the fever explanation hadn't felt right in Arthur's mind, the idea of madness _also_ felt wrong. There was something he was missing; something that he was pretty sure Gaius might be aware of, and something that he was damn sure Merlin was keeping from him.

Which led him back to Mordred again.

So the King found himself walking towards the dungeons for the second time that day, hoping that his instinct was right, and that Mordred might be able to help, despite being under the threat of execution. In fact, talking with Mordred might help decide the boy's fate, now that he thought about it. If he proved helpful, it would go a long way towards helping Arthur come to a decision about the boy, for surely someone who was willing to help the King of Camelot could not be considered a traitor.

Of course, if Mordred chose _not_ to help... well, Arthur didn't let himself think about that, for it would not only mean that Mordred was too bitter to be truly loyal ever again, it would also mean that he'd be no closer to discovering what it was that was ailing his manservant.

oo0oo

When Arthur arrived at Mordred's cell, the younger man was once again oblivious to the King's presence, and the blonde was able to spend a few moments observing him. He'd expected to find the boy in much the same condition as before, but although he was still sat on the rudimentary bed inside his cell, Mordred did not have the same look of despair on his face as he'd had when Arthur had last seen him.

The boy had his attention fixed on his cupped hands, which were resting on his drawn up knees. There was a fierce look of concentration on his face, and Arthur found himself wondering what it was that held the attention of the man so deeply.

"Mordred?"

The disgraced knight jumped, and he quickly lowered his legs to the floor to stand up. He dipped his head in acknowledgement of the King's presence, and straightened his shoulders.

"Sire," he said quietly. "I was not expecting you yet."

Arthur didn't reply, but looked carefully at the boy's face, noting the paleness of it, and the stormy depths of Mordred's eyes.

"Have... have you come to a decision, my lord?"

"No," he sighed.

"I see."

"I was hoping you could help me with that."

"Sire... I never meant for any harm to come to you, or to anyone else. I only wanted Kara to be safe."

Arthur waved a hand dismissively, and gestured for Mordred to stop speaking.

"I think I believe you, Mordred, but though I obviously need to make a decision about what to do next, there is actually something else that I need to discuss with you, first. Something that is currently more pressing."

"Pardon me, my lord, but you hold my life in your hands; that seems rather pressing to me."

There was a cold edge to the boy's voice that unnerved Arthur slightly, but given the precarious situation that Mordred was in, the King could hardly blame him for it.

"You are in no immediate danger from me, Mordred. Perhaps you are not in danger at all, even. I have some questions for you, and I'd like you to answer them truthfully, and as fully as you can."

"Questions, my lord?"

"Yes. Several questions. Are you willing to answer them for me?"

"I will do my best, my lord."

Arthur nodded, and stepped forward, pouring a cup of water for the other man and passing it through the cell's bars. He gestured for Mordred to sit, and pulled up a stool so that he could sit down himself.

"What do you know of druid magic?" he asked, watching the boy closely. Mordred paled even further at the question, and moistened his lips nervously.

"Sire?"

"Don't be alarmed; there are a few things puzzling me at the moment, and I think it's possible that you may be able to help me. You grew up in a druid village, and no doubt were privy to a lot of information that I am currently sadly lacking."

"Sire," said Mordred, who was clearly uncomfortable. "Not _all_ druids use magic."

Arthur chose not to comment, but leaned a little closer to the cell and rested his hands on his knees. Mordred looked away for a moment, appearing to weigh his following words carefully.

"It is true, though, that most druids have _some_ form of natural magical ability, though I would stress that often they choose _not_ to explore that capability."

The way Mordred kept his eyes averted was very telling, and Arthur had the feeling he knew exactly what it was that was making the boy so nervous; the ban on magic obviously made things difficult for a community that had magic at its very core. Perhaps they even discouraged the study of it in order to protect themselves; perhaps even_ Mordred_ had repressed his interest in sorcery, though, Arthur thought fairly, the boy had never shown signs of disagreeing with Camelot's laws.

"So, it could be said that most druids have some experience with magic, then," he remarked almost casually.

"I'm not entirely sure where you are going with this, my lord. Are you suggesting that _I_...?"

"No, though you raise a valid point, and it is a point that I am sure we will revisit very soon. At the moment, though, the druid that I speak of is Kara."

"_Kara_?"

"Yes. You say you grew up with her, so you must have some idea if she had any magical inclinations – and whether or not she was in any way proficient."

"Kara was a _decent_ person, my lord, and a good friend."

The way Mordred tensed up alerted Arthur of the need to tread carefully, and he nodded slightly before continuing.

"I do not doubt your belief of her goodness, but unfortunately I have reason to believe that Kara may have – unwittingly or otherwise – performed magic just prior to her death."

Mordred shifted his gaze, and paused to pick at something on his knees. The knight removed what Arthur thought was a speck of dirt from his breeches, but then watched with some confusion as the boy raised a hand and released whatever he was holding on top of it. Then he began to slowly place one hand in front of the other as whatever it was he'd picked up moved across them.

"They're everywhere, aren't they?" the knight mused.

"Excuse me?"

"The ants; they're everywhere. Sometimes you don't register that they're there, but they always are... in their hundreds. _Thousands_, even. Everywhere. Scurrying about. Such busy little creatures..."

Arthur didn't know what to make of Mordred's somewhat bizarre change of conversation, and shook his head with perplexity. He watched the strange scene before him for a minute or so, trying to catch a glimpse of Mordred's face, but the boy had successfully hidden his expression in the shadows, making the King's attempt to scrutinize him null and void.

"Mordred."

The knight jumped, and a flush slowly crept up his face. He quickly flicked the ant from his hand in what struck Arthur as a faintly disturbing motion, though he wasn't sure what it was that made his stomach clench a little.

"Why do you suspect Kara of performing magic, my lord?"

Arthur blinked, and wondered how he could explain his gut feeling, not least because it mostly stemmed from Merlin's mirroring of the girl's final moments. He balked at the idea of describing how Merlin had lowered his head at the precise moment that Kara's neck had snapped.

"Merlin is... ill," he began awkwardly.

"Ill, my lord?"

"Yes. Well, yes and no. It's difficult to explain. I'm not sure what ails him, but I _do_ know that he was fine this morning, and in a very short amount of time he has gone from being healthy, to extremely... well, _un_healthy."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Merlin is _never_ ill. Injured sometimes, _tired_ quite often, but never _ill_."

Mordred lowered his face and contemplated his fingers for a few moments, before returning a somewhat blank gaze to the King.

"And this concerns Kara _how_?"

Arthur sighed. He really did _not_ want to explain, but it looked like he had little choice.

"Merlin had a very... _strange_ reaction... to Kara's death. I could perhaps explain it away as not being in any way unusual, for heaven knows Merlin has _always_ been somewhat squeamish, and I myself was not unaffected by what happened. But it appears that Merlin actually collapsed at around the same time, and he's now... well, now I'm not sure exactly _what_ he is. He's not right, and that's all I can tell you."

"I see," said Mordred slowly. "And you think Merlin's... condition... is magically related."

"I don't know. But there is definitely something off about the whole thing."

"Perhaps you could explain the symptoms, my lord?"

Arthur bit his lip, not sure how much detail to give. He couldn't deny that he wanted help, but he was uncomfortable divulging the full extent of Merlin's current state; he felt that it would be invading his friend's privacy, somehow.

"Extreme headaches," he said truthfully. "And he's behaving slightly out of character."

"Well, my lord, Merlin has always been something of an odd character," said the boy, his lips quirking a little.

"True," said the King. "But this isn't the same thing. I feel like he knows something, but is refusing to say what it is."

"Merlin can be very close-mouthed when he wants to be," replied the knight. "_Secretive_, you might say."

The King snorted.

"Are we talking about the same Merlin? Merlin rarely keeps his mouth closed, and quite often doesn't know when to shut up."

Even as he said the words, though, Arthur frowned. It was true that Merlin tended to speak without thinking, but there had been several instances, particularly recently, when his friend had been less talkative than was normal.

"You would be wise, my lord, not to dismiss the possibility of there being more to Merlin than meets the eye."

Arthur's ears picked up the bitter edge to Mordred's words, and he frowned again. The feeling of animosity between Merlin and Mordred clearly went both ways.

"Merlin is probably my most loyal of friends," he said carefully. "I've never had reason to doubt him."

"I'm not questioning his loyalty, my lord. But you should probably be aware that Merlin rarely does _anything_ without thinking about it first."

"That's ridiculous. Merlin is one of the most impetuous people I know. In fact, how he hasn't gotten himself _killed_ before now with his recklessness is beyond me."

"Yes, 'recklessness' is a good word for Merlin. But don't be fooled into thinking that is all there is to it. There is a reason that Merlin does what he does."

"I don't understand; what are you trying to say to me? And what does it have to do with my suspicions of Kara somehow magically harming my manservant?"

Mordred licked his lips, and swallowed. Then he looked directly at Arthur, the boy's eyes shining with a determined light.

"Kara is not responsible for whatever it is that is making Merlin act... strangely; though I cannot deny the possibility that her death may be partly to blame. Guilt can do strange things to the mind. As can grief."

"But what does _Merlin_ have to feel guilty about? He did his very best to _help_ the girl."

"And yet he betrayed her in the end, anyway."

"He's a _loyal_ servant," the King said pointedly. "He was honour bound to tell me of your plans."

"That may be so, but do not assume that his loyalty to you was his motivation for what he did. Merlin rarely does anything unless it serves his purpose."

"His _purpose_ was to tell his King the _truth_!"

"Was it?"

"What are you _implying_, Mordred?"

"Merely that you would be wise to watch your loyal servant a little more closely. He is not all he seems."

Mordred's face was a cold mask, and Arthur was shocked at the sight of it. This was more than mere animosity; there was _hatred_ here. And it shocked him that he had never seen it before.

"What _is_ there between you and Merlin?"

"You should ask Merlin, my lord. I'm sure he would be quite... _informative..._ if pressed."

"That's where you're wrong. He refused to say anything. So now I am asking _you_."

"Then clearly he is determined to keep his secrets, my lord, and it is not my place to divulge them. But I will say it again; _he is not all he seems_. You would be wise to remember that."

Arthur stood up abruptly and grasped the bars of the cell.

"Damn it, Mordred! You are doing yourself _no_ favours by trying to besmirch Merlin's reputation."

"My fate is already determined, my lord. It matters little what I do now."

"So be it," said Arthur coldly. "I will make my decision regarding your sentencing by tomorrow morning."

Mordred dipped his head, but Arthur chose to ignore the boy, too angered by the knight's disturbing words to say anything else. He turned away swiftly, intent on leaving the suddenly confining walls of the holding area.

"Watch him, my lord. Watch him carefully."

Mordred's whispered warning sent chills down Arthur's back, and he couldn't help but think that the boy's words had held a ring of truth to them. For all of his chattiness, Merlin was quite adept at _not_ actually saying much during his many rambling speeches. In fact, there had been times when Arthur had had the distinct feeling that his friend only spoke as a way to divert the King's attention from something. It was strange how he knew this, because he'd never really considered the possibility before now.

It was with cold determination that Arthur strode purposely towards the Court Physician's chambers. He was still certain that Merlin was as loyal a friend as he'd always been, but there was nothing he hated more than lies, and it was becoming blatantly obvious that Merlin was lying to him about something. Maybe even a _number_ of somethings. And, of course, he wanted to confront Gaius about the falsehood that his old friend had fed him that morning.

As soon as he approached Gaius's rooms, he heard a commotion coming from within. There was the sound of something smashing, and the muffled voices of several people. Quickening his steps, he thrust open the door and was faced for the second time that day with a sight that shocked him to the very soles of his feet.

There were three men clustered around the bed that Gaius used to treat patients, and there was an array of broken pots on the floor, along with discarded cloths, some of which showed signs of blood. Gwaine and Gaius were attempting to hold down Merlin, who was writhing in what was obviously agony; a Merlin who was ripping at his own skin, clawing hard enough to tear through his clothes and draw blood.

Arthur rushed forwards, all traces of anger forgotten, his thoughts only of helping the two struggling men before him. He stooped to pick up a roll of cloth used for bandaging purposes and started to unravel it.

"We need to tie his arms," he said grimly, noting the twin looks of shock and dismay on Gaius and Gwaine's faces. "_Don't _look at me like that; we need to stop him from hurting himself any further."

Gwaine nodded, and renewed his efforts to restrain Merlin, who was continuing to thrash and scratch at himself. Arthur was astonished at how easily Merlin seemed to throw off not one, but _two_ men's attempt to control his flailing limbs. Seeing that they were nowhere nearer to restraining the man, Arthur thrust the make-shift rope on the end of the bed, and leaned in to give an extra pair of hands to the job.

"Merlin, stop bloody _fighting_," he all but growled. Not knowing what else he could do, for even with _three _pairs of hands on him, Merlin clearly still had the advantage, Arthur released his hold on his friend's arms and firmly gripped his face, forcing the whimpering man to meet his eyes.

Merlin screamed, and all hell broke loose.


	7. Broken

**Wow, so much lovely feedback for the last chapter! Thanks so much! *beams* I was worried that it wouldn't be well recieved, so you have really made me smile today! So much so, that my muse was _also_ very happy, and enabled me to come up with the next chapter right away. Hope you enjoy the latest installment, and thanks again - so much! - for the lovely reviews, and for all of the follows and favourites. They keep me going, they really do. *hugs***

**If I owned Merlin, I'd kidnap him and whisk him away for a lifetime of cuddles and smooching... sadly, I can only do that in my head, as he belongs to BBC Shine. Which is a real downer, if truth be told...**

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><p>Merlin was buried under a haze of pain; he knew his attempts to alleviate the awful burning and itching sensation that covered his entire body were futile, but he couldn't stop, despite knowing that he was abusing himself almost as much as Mordred was. His mind was filled with horrifying images of being consumed by the ants of his imagination; he tried to tell himself that it wasn't real, that it was all in his head, but the very real pain that he felt made the hallucination all the more convincing.<p>

And then Arthur grabbed his face, forcing him to look into his eyes, and time stopped for the warlock as his head became filled with images even more terrifying than being eaten alive by ants. Arthur's face was grim; his mouth tense, and his eyes filled with an angry light. Just like the Arthur who had chased him through a dark forest; an avenging angel atop his demon horse. Just like the friend who had raised his arms to strike at the warlock when he refused to answer his questions about Mordred; and just like the King who coldly recited the list of crimes that Merlin was guilty of, giving the order for the flames of a pyre to be lit...

Time suddenly started up again; terror gripped Merlin fiercely in its grasp, and all he could do was scream. He was still on fire, his skin a mass of irritation, but the instinct to survive overrode his urge to relieve his tortured flesh, and his arms moved of their own volition, reaching up to rip the King's hands from his face, pushing them away violently. He was vaguely aware of other hands trying to hold him down, but there weren't enough hands in the world to stop him from doing what his head was screaming for him to do.

He had to get away from Arthur, and he had to get away _now_.

He felt a guttural growl rip through his throat, and without quite knowing how he did it, he found himself on the other side of the room, his breath coming in gasps, and his hands swatting at the areas of his face where Arthur had gripped it. He felt contaminated, as if the King had branded him somehow; marking him as someone to be feared, hated... labelling him as a monster.

The itching sensation lessened some, and he was able to control himself enough so that his scratching became less frenzied, though he still couldn't help digging at himself. He eyed Arthur warily, his feet ready to flee the moment the King made any moves towards him.

"Merlin...?"

"You keep away from me," he said quickly.

Arthur blinked, frowning with confusion, and a small part of the warlock, buried deeply beneath all the terror, confusion, and _pain_ that was dominating him, wanted to drop his guard and reassure his friend that everything would be alright; that Merlin wasn't _really_ afraid of him; that it was all just a horrible nightmare that they would both soon be free of.

But the fear had become too strong, and it smothered the tiny little voice of reason that was whispering at the back of his mind. A fear so strong that when Arthur held his arms up, Merlin didn't recognise the gesture as a calming one, but saw it as one of a new threat; a fear so consuming, that when the King took a hesitant step forward, Merlin instantly backed away.

"You stay _away_ from me!"

"Merlin, don't be stupid. I'm trying to_ help_ you!"

"No," he shook his head. "No."

"What the _hell's_ the matter with you?"

Merlin flinched at the volume of Arthur's voice, and took another step backwards; his back gently collided with something solid, and he leaned against the wall, grateful for the support it gave to his suddenly shaking body.

"Sire, perhaps it might be wise to do as he says."

Merlin blinked and allowed a sigh of relief to escape from him. _Gaius_. Gaius was here. Gaius would smooth things over; Gaius would say some words to distract the King, and make him go away.

"And why is _that_, Gaius? Surely a _feverish_ man should be given all possible help?"

The fury that laced the King's words whipped at Merlin's already battered wits, and he felt himself sagging, slowly slipping to the floor as his legs crumpled beneath him.

"_Sire_..."

"Gaius, I _strongly_ advise you to choose your next words _very _carefully; I have heard enough lies for one day."

Merlin shot a look of panic towards his guardian, but Gaius had his eyes lowered, and was flushing slightly under the King's heated gaze.

"Sire, I'm not sure I know what to _say_ to you."

"The _truth_."

"I don't _know _the truth, my lord. I am at an utter loss."

Arthur sneered disdainfully, piercing the physician with a disgusted glare, and shook off the older man's attempt to hold him back. The King strode forwards, and Merlin tried desperately to back away, but of course he _couldn't_; there was a solid mass of stone blocking his path. Knowing his legs would _not_ support him, Merlin resorted to curling into a defensive ball, covering his head with desperate hands, hands that twitched as they nervously scratched at his skull.

"Arthur!"

"Get your hands off me, _Gwaine_, or so help me I'll -"

"Stop being such a fool," hissed the other man. "Just look at him! He's out of his wits, and you're just making things worse!"

"Sire, please, I beg you... listen to Gwaine. There are no lies in _his _words."

Merlin heard the shuffling of feet, and he pulled himself into an impossibly tighter ball, not daring to look beyond the comforting blackness of his knees. Then followed a muffled conversation, pieces of which floated over the warlock's head; teasing snippets that did little to ease his mind.

"_...will not be tolerated... sick of being lied to..."_

"_... must be careful... don't know how dangerous..."_

"_...fever be damned! I am not stupid!"_

"_Sire, please..."_

"_... must restrain him...we don't know..."_

"_You should go... only distressing him further..."_

Dear gods, they were going to restrain him. Visions of dark and damp cells filled Merlin's mind; images of cruel iron bands around his wrists flashed through his brain, and he shrank even further into himself. Camelot's cells would be crawling with not only ants – ants that were no longer merely creatures that irritated him when he was sleeping outdoors, but monsters every bit as frightening as the beasts from his childhood nightmares – but filled with the population of rats that festered beneath the city. Rats that scavenged around for scraps of food, and could move as swiftly as vipers.

Merlin jumped when he felt a gentle tap on his arm, and tried to scoot away from the slight pressure.

"Hey... Merlin, it's alright; it's me, Gwaine."

"Don't let him lock me away," he whispered.

"No-one is going to lock you away, Merlin."

"What's he saying?" demanded the King. "Gwaine, tell me!"

Merlin cringed, and tried to move away again. Gwaine swore viciously under his breath, and firmly gripped Merlin's arm.

"Bloody hell, Arthur, just shut the hell up, would you!" he ground out, before blowing out a calming breath. His voice softened into a more soothing tone as he tried to coax his friend to sit up.

"Easy now... come on, Merlin, let me help you. You're in a right mess, mate. Let's get you up on your feet."

Merlin quickly shook his head.

"No. Not while _he's_ here."

"Damn it, Merlin. I can't order the _King_ to leave," said the exasperated knight. "You're just going to have to trust me, alright? Arthur is nowhere near you; he's way over the other side of the room. Come on, now... at least move your arms, hey? Sit up a little, that's right... take a deep breath."

Merlin slowly did as he was bid, and lifted his head to meet the concerned gaze of his friend. Gwaine gently moved the warlock's hands from his head, frowning as he noted how Merlin's fingers twitched with agitation as he made half-hearted attempts to scratch at his still itching body.

"I don't want to be locked up," he said shakily. "And I don't want... I don't want..."

"What, Merlin? What don't you want?"

"I don't want to _burn_," he mumbled.

"Ah, hell mate... you're not going to burn."

Gwaine stood up and leaned over to grasp Merlin beneath his arms. The warlock swayed a little as he was pulled to his feet, but the knight kept a firm grip on him.

"I think we're good here," he said over his shoulder. "I'm going to get him back in his room."

"Good, thank you, Gwaine," said Gaius, his voice heavy with relief. "I'll fetch some ointment for his cuts, and some fresh bandages."

"I can do that," said Arthur, and Merlin tensed under Gwaine's fingers.

"Ah, might be best if you stayed in here, Princess," said the knight. "At least for the moment."

"Look here, you can't -"

"Sire, Gwaine is right."

"Fine," said the King, his tone clipped. "But I am _not_ leaving until I have some answers."

"Would that I had any for you, my lord," said Gaius.

Any further conversation was muffled as Merlin was gently led back into his room, with the door being closed softly behind him. Gwaine kicked away at the debris on the floor, and cleared a path to Merlin's bed, lowering his friend onto the softness of the mattress.

"You want to tell me what happened back there?" said the knight, carefully avoiding Merlin's eyes and concentrating on the small lacerations that were dotted all over the younger man's face. "Hell, Merlin, you look like you've been fighting an army of cats."

"I was itching," he said quietly. "It wouldn't stop. I'm _still_ itching."

"Whoa there, no more of that, or Gaius will string me up with parts that I'd rather be handled by _gentler_ hands, thank you very much."

Gwaine firmly grasped Merlin's hands and moved them to the warlock's sides, patting them firmly before turning his head, apparently looking for something. He nodded and tapped Merlin's hands once more, before grabbing a tunic that had been thrown haphazardly over the end of the bed.

"Sorry, mate," he said ruefully, as he began to tear the tunic down the middle. "But needs must."

The knight gently bound one hand with one half of Merlin's torn tunic, and tied it securely, testing the strength of the knot. Then he proceeded to do the same with the other hand, and nodded with satisfaction when he'd completed his task.

"There, that's one problem solved, at any rate," he muttered. "Now, is there any... ah, yes there is. You just keep that skinny arse of yours on that bed, and we'll see about cleaning you up a bit. I'm not as good at this healing lark as Gaius is, but I'm all you've got until the old man gets rid of Arthur."

Gwaine kept up a steady stream of calming chatter over the next few minutes as he cleaned the worst of the cuts as best he was able with the limited amount of water and cloths he had found, and Merlin slowly began to relax his screaming muscles to the soothing tone of his friend's voice. Finally, when Gwaine appeared to be finished with his rudimentary doctoring skills, he rolled up one of the unused cloths and pressed it gently against the wound on the back of Merlin's head, muttering under his breath.

"You've gone and undone some of the stitches," he scolded. "Here, keep a hold of this; I don't want to press too hard against it in case it opens up more."

Merlin reached up to hold the cloth in place, wincing a little at the pressure.

"Thanks, Gwaine."

Gwaine waved his hand dismissively, and grabbed a fallen stool from the floor, setting it on its legs before sitting on it. He rubbed his hands over his face and blew out a breath.

"Hell's teeth, Merlin. What the hell is going on?"

"I told you... I was itching..."

"No; I don't mean that, though you can explain about that crazy clawing thing in a bit. I mean this," he said, gesturing to the chaos around him. "And _that_," he added, pointing a finger over his shoulder to the door of Merlin's room. "I assume you've been hiding your magic for a long time, but what happened here today is going to cause a world of trouble, because _Princess_ back there is not as stupid as we'd all like to think."

"I.. I couldn't control it," said Merlin, trying to scratch his head again, but finding no relief from his now-bound fingers.

"Has this happened before?"

"No."

"So why now?"

Merlin shrugged, and avoided Gwaine's eyes, suddenly finding the bloodstains on the opposite wall a very interesting sight.

"Come on, Merlin, Princess isn't the _only_ one that's not stupid. I can practically _see_ your brain working, so out with it."

Merlin shook his head; he'd slipped up and almost said Mordred's name not so many minutes ago, and the fallout had been catastrophic. He was in no rush to repeat his mistake.

"Right, so you're not going to answer _that_ question," muttered Gwaine. "How about _this_ one? Why are you so scared of Arthur?"

Merlin flicked a look of panic towards his friend, and swallowed nervously. Could he admit to his fears, or would that trigger another magical attack? The temptation to blurt out what was eating away at him warred with the caution that told him to be careful of his words. He heaved in a steadying breath, and admitted to the nightmare that had been stalking him ever since Mordred had started his telepathic assault on him, hoping that if he stated his fears without mentioning the druid, it would not trigger a violent response from his tormentor.

"I... he... Arthur will _burn_ me if he finds out about my magic, Gwaine. He'll leave me to be swallowed up by flames..."

There was an awkward pause as Merlin blinked sharply at the sudden rush of weak tears, and he brushed them away with shame, while Gwaine frowned and contemplated the warlock's words.

"Not to be insensitive, Merlin, but isn't this something that has _always_ been a danger?" he asked gently. "This is Camelot, after all. You've been here, what... nine, ten years? Why are you so scared _now_? What happened?"

"I-I don't know."

"Listen, you can keep as many of your secrets for as long as you damn well please, and I'm _not_ going to kick up any fuss, but when a secret is going to bloody _kill_ you, I'm going to pester you until you talk. Now _speak_; tell me what caused you to have a magical outburst that damn near gave Gaius a heart attack, and tell me what the bloody hell it was that made you act like a _lunatic_ out there just now."

"Gwaine, _please_... I want to tell you; really, I do. But I... can't."

"Gods, but you're stubborn," said the knight, forcing a small smile to twitch at Merlin's lips. "What about Gaius? Can you tell _him_? I'm assuming the wily old goat has known of your magic for quite a while."

"No, I can't tell Gaius, either. I can't tell _anyone_," he replied wearily, rubbing his eyes tiredly. There was a few beats of silence, and Merlin thought that his friend was going to give up his line of questioning, but the knight suddenly sat up a little straighter in his chair, and fixed a searching gaze upon the warlock, frowning suspiciously.

"Wait... when you say 'can't', you really mean you _can't_, don't you?"

"Well, that's the general idea, yes," he replied somewhat irritably.

"No, don't try to change the subject by getting snippy with me; you really _can't_ say what is causing this, can you?"

"Gwaine..."

"This isn't just you being pig-headed, this is something else; s_omeone_ else."

"Let it go, Gwaine, you can't help me with this."

"Damn it, Merlin, don't be stupid. Look at the state of you! You're a _mess_, and you can't control your bloody body, never mind your magic! Gaius is worried sick, and _Princess_ is about ready to bang your head against a wall all over again just so that he can knock some bloody sense into you! You need _help_!"

"_I can't tell you!_"

The flash of magic that ripped through Merlin was so quick that he thought he'd imagined it, but the dull thud of Gwaine landing on the floor made it all too clear to the warlock that he'd released some of the power that was simmering deep inside his belly.

"Gwaine?"

Merlin had already swung his legs into action, and was halfway off his bed when a wave of dizziness forced him to stop. His head dropped heavily back to his pillow, and he groaned softly. Thankfully, he heard a similar sound coming from somewhere below, and his heart steadied into a more normal rhythm.

"Gwaine... I'm sorry...I'm _so_ sorry... I didn't mean to..."

"Well, now I know not to be too worried about you when we're out on patrol," muttered the knight, as he rose gingerly to his feet and rubbed the back of his head. "You pack quite a punch there, Merlin."

"I didn't mean to... _I can't control it_... I'm so sorry, Gwaine."

"It's nothing, don't worry yourself; I've had worse injuries falling out of my bed," the knight said calmly. "_You_, on the other hand, look like you're going to pass out again."

"I'm so _tired_."

"Well, _that's _something that can be remedied, even if nothing _else_ can at the moment. Get some sleep; we can talk some more later."

The knight pulled a blanket from the end of the bed, and draped it over him, but Merlin quickly grabbed the other man's arm before he moved away.

"Don't let Arthur in here, will you?" he asked, fear and shame making his voice hoarse.

Gwaine nodded once, and gave Merlin's shoulder a squeeze before turning to walk away. Merlin closed his eyes and sighed. His entire body ached, and his head still had traces of his earlier headache; the wound on the back of his skull throbbed in time with his blood, and the numerous lacerations that were the result of his frenzied scratching were stinging painfully.

Gwaine was right; he _was_ a mess. But he was at least free of the taunting voice of Mordred, and Merlin only hoped that it would remain that way, at least long enough for him to get some rest. He desperately needed the respite that the oblivion of sleep would give him, and he silently begged anyone who would listen to let him have a few hours of peace.

It took only a few minutes for the warlock to fall asleep, and if he had been aware enough to realise it, he would have been deeply relieved at the blessed silence of the darkness that engulfed him.


	8. Revelations

**Hello! So... here's the next chapter. Not as soon as I would have liked, but the 'Arthur' chapters tend to take a few days for me to write, so it's as fast as I could manage. I should probably warn you that this is turning into a much longer story than I had originally planned, and will definitely be continuing beyond the canon ending of the episode. I think it is also a good time to reveal the awesome prompt that Vaughntronic gave me, as I've written enough to make the prompt not be 'spoilerish' in any way. I thought it might be interesting for you guys to see what inspired the story. (And again, I would urge you to read V's "Gone", which is her angst and whump ridden tale based on another prompt that she came up with - it's seriously good. Really). Thanks so much for the continuing fabulous reviews! I _do_ try to reply to them all, but inevitably I confuse myself due to the fact that I am still writing my oneshots, and sometimes miss a few replies. *blushes* Rest assured that I read and appreciate every single review, though! *hugs***

**_The prompt: "Insane"_**

**_ When Arthur kills Kara, instead of taking off to go to Morgana, Mordred decides to stay close to home. He pretends that he understands and forgives Arthur, but really, he has no such intention. He decides to strike at Arthur through Merlin._**

**_ Mordred seals Merlin's sanity away. It's like he has locked everything that makes Merlin sane back down into a corner within himself so he can just sit helplessly and watch his mind be lost._**

**_ The focus of all Merlin's insanity, his dreams, his hallucinations, his demons - is Arthur. Merlin is now terrified of Arthur and sees him as a threat. Perhaps even attacks Arthur when he gets near._**

**_ Merlin's magic use is no longer being controlled by a sane man, so what happens there? Is there an unwitting magic reveal? And if so, to who, and what happens?_**

**_ Gaius and Gwaine remain the only ones who can be near him._**

**So, that was the prompt... and then my twisted mind went on a rampage. *coughs***

**I don't own Merlin. Though I freely admit that given the chance, I would commit bigamy if the opportunity presented itself. Not even going to apologise for that, either. *nods firmly***

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><p>Arthur was experiencing the strangest feeling of being outside of his body; he could hear himself shouting, but he wasn't altogether sure what it was he was saying. He felt as if he was floating; unable to control where he was going, and unable to stop the absolutely bizarre events that were unfolding before him. All he could see was Merlin cowering against the wall, and he was utterly perplexed by the sight.<p>

Because Merlin was _terrified_; downright scared out of his wits. And if _that_ wasn't as wrong as wrong could possibly be – Merlin was such a gentle soul, for him to be so scared was almost a crime against nature – what made it more terrible was the fact that it was _Arthur_ who Merlin was scared of.

And it _was_ terrible; more horrifying than Arthur could possibly have imagined. What on earth had he done to make Merlin act so unhinged? He wanted to scream his frustration, because he hadn't done _anything_. He felt wrong-footed, and so confused that he didn't know how to even _begin_ to sort through the events that had occurred since he'd entered the room only a few minutes previously.

He was hard pressed to pick out what disturbed him the most; the sight of Merlin thrashing wildly in delirium, the fact that the man had pushed Arthur away with such force – and had then shot across the room with an almost _impossible_ speed – or the way his friend was currently huddled against the wall, shaking, holding his head with twitching hands, and mumbling incoherently under his breath.

Perhaps it was none of these things, though, he admitted to himself; perhaps it was the way that Gwaine was currently doing his utmost to calm his friend, and that he was doing a pretty good job of it. It bothered Arthur more than he could possibly explain that there was someone who was able to help, and that that someone wasn't _him_. For wasn't Merlin supposed to be _his_ friend, too? It was further proof that Merlin didn't want to be anywhere near him, and it was a punch to the gut for the king to realise the extent of Merlin's current madness.

He watched as Gwaine soothed the shaking man and brought him to his feet, calmly waving away the king's offer of help, and leading an unsteady Merlin back to his room. As soon as the door closed, Gaius began to move around nervously, picking up the various ointments and bandages that Merlin would need. The old man kept his eyes averted, and Arthur sighed; despite his still very real anger, he hated being at odds with his oldest friend, but he knew that he could not let the lie from that morning go ignored.

"Gaius, leave those for the moment."

"Sire, I should attend to Merlin as soon as possible."

"Gwaine appears to be doing just fine," he replied, a slight edge to his voice. "I am sure that he will continue to cope without your help for another few minutes."

The physician nodded reluctantly, and placed the items he had collected on the table. He sat down, rubbing his face wearily, and looked at Arthur expectantly. The king pulled another chair out and sat down, resting his elbows on the table and linking his hands under his chin.

"Why did you lie?" he asked abruptly, not willing to waste time by beating around the proverbial bush.

Gaius frowned.

"I'm not altogether sure that I _did_ lie. A fever would explain most, if not all, of Merlin's behaviour."

"Gaius, please," he scoffed. "I am not a physician, but I know what a fever is, and Merlin does _not_ have one. I felt his head numerous times when we were binding his wound, and there was no heat coming from it."

The old man raised his eyebrows, and looked mildly impressed.

"I must confess, my lord, that I wasn't _thinking_ about his temperature at the time; it was his _other _symptoms that led me to my conclusion."

Arthur looked closely at the other man, and could not detect a lie; though admittedly, his recent record of recognising when people were lying to him didn't instil much confidence.

"I could accept that," he said carefully, "If I wasn't so sure that you were hiding something from me. Because I know you _are_, Gaius, and now is _not_ the time to deny it."

"Sire," he said, another frown deepening the lines on his weathered face. "I'm really not sure what it is that you think I am keeping from you, but I can assure you that I have always had your best interests at heart, and would never knowingly betray you."

"And that is why I am troubled so much," said Arthur swiftly. "You've always been a steadying presence at Camelot – both for me, and my father before me. It makes me wonder why you would lie to me at all. It makes me wonder what could possibly be so bad, that you'd think I'd be better off not knowing."

Arthur watched carefully, noting the way the older man's eyes flickered briefly towards Merlin's room, and how his fingers shook slightly as he straightened the sleeves of his robes. It pained the king to see his friend struggle, even as he acknowledged the frustration and anger that still hovered on the edges of his mind. He had to clamp down on his urge to rage at the man, because he knew that would only make Gaius even more unwilling to speak.

He found himself thinking of Guinevere, and how she had slowly taught him that sometimes silence was much better than words when it came to encouraging a reluctant person to open up. So he settled back in his seat and rested his hands on the table, trying to portray a calmness that he was far from feeling.

A minute or two passed, and Arthur thought his patience wouldn't be rewarded, but finally Gaius sat up a little straighter, and looked at the king with steady eyes.

"This is not the first time that I have had to administer medicinal care to my ward, sire. You are aware, of course, of the many times that Merlin has been injured, either through his general clumsiness, or through _other_ means."

Arthur shifted in his seat, for of course Gaius was doing what Gaius did best, and managing to make him feel like the naughty boy of his youth. Merlin had been hurt many times over the years, both on the training field, and during the many times that Camelot had been under attack. But he'd never been seriously injured; except perhaps when the Dorocha had attacked him, though as far as Arthur was aware, Merlin had recovered long before _Gaius _had seen him. Had there been _other_ times when his friend had been more seriously injured? Surely that was not possible; surely he would have seen it?

Arthur blinked as he was suddenly visited with an image of his friend lying unconscious on the ground after taking a deadly hit from a bandit's mace, and he looked at Gaius with some shock. He'd been so relieved to see the man after he had disappeared, that he'd never really thought about the injury itself. Merlin had seemed perfectly healthy, if perhaps more than a little bit dirty. Now, with the advantage of hindsight, Arthur realised that a mace injury would need a little more time to heal than the scant few days that Merlin had had.

Were there other times, too, when his friend had been injured?

"Sire, I think perhaps you may be a little blind to how much Merlin does; not just for you, but for everyone. He pushes himself daily, and tends to neglect himself while he does so. I can't tell you how many times I've had to scold the boy for not taking better care of himself."

"Just what exactly are we talking about here, Gaius?" he asked, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like what the physician was about to say, not only because it appeared that Merlin was hiding a lot more than a secret or two, but because it suggested that Arthur had perhaps missed several occasions when his friend had been in need of care. Merlin was ridiculously zealous when it came to looking after Arthur, especially when the king was injured, and it bothered the blonde to realise that he had not returned the favour.

"Arthur," said Gaius gently. "If Merlin chose to keep his past injuries from you, I have to respect his wish for privacy. He would not thank me for telling you. But what I _can_ tell you – and this is something that I think you already know, but I think it is worth saying anyway – what I _can_ tell you, is that Merlin is a great deal more resilient than most people give him credit for. He is perhaps not as physically strong as the knights, but his strength of will is really quite remarkable. And... and he has a high tolerance for pain."

Arthur almost asked how Gaius would know of these startling pieces of information, but he found that he didn't really want to know how Merlin's ability to cope with pain had been discovered. It was too disturbing a thought.

"I have tended to him more times than I care to remember over the years, sire, but what I have seen today has truly confounded me. _Never_ have I seen him become so unravelled, and as someone who has – as I have already explained – a rather resilient nature, this is extremely concerning. Merlin is not a complainer; he does not grumble when he is ill or injured. In fact, he takes great pains to conceal his discomfort."

Arthur could not help but agree, for hadn't he _himself _been impressed in the past at Merlin's stoic determination to go on, even after suffering an injury?

"The fact that Merlin was so out of control speaks volumes," continued Gaius, his voice shaking slightly. "I do not like to think about the level of pain he must be in for him to act in such a way. A level of pain that would be much beyond what most people can cope with, given his past record."

Arthur felt the blood rush from his head as the full impact of what Gaius was implying was absorbed; like the man before him, he did not want to think about how bad Merlin's pain truly was if it was enough to make the man act so out of character.

"So you really don't have any idea what is wrong with him?" he said eventually, rubbing his head wearily.

"No, sire, sadly I do not. Which is why I hope you'll forgive me for citing a fever as the cause; I think you can perhaps understand that my mind was otherwise engaged."

"Yes... yes, of course," he replied vaguely, still thinking about the older man's revelations.

"Now, if that is all, I would like to tend to my ward."

Arthur was about to nod once again, but both men turned at the soft clicking of a door; Gwaine was walking slowly towards them, his frown making him seem almost like a different person. He leaned against the bed that Merlin had not long vacated, and rubbed both of his hands up and down his face a few times, before blowing out a breath. He eyed Arthur carefully, nodded to himself as if confirming something, then looked at Gaius.

"Well, he's still skittish, but I've cleaned him up some, and I told him to get some sleep. He was damn near passing out again, so I threw a blanket over him and ordered him to rest."

"Was he lucid?" asked Gaius quickly.

"Yes," Gwaine paused. "Though honestly, he still didn't make much sense; but there was none of that babbling or anything, so yes, I would say he was lucid."

A strange look passed between the knight and the old man, and Arthur stiffened slightly in his seat; the shared glance had been fleeting, but it had definitely been there. He opened his mouth to angrily demand that everyone _stop _their infernal secret-keeping, but quickly snapped it shut again, Guinevere's advice ringing clearly in his head.

_Patience; patience and silence. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open._

"Well, that is something, I suppose," said Gaius, sighing. "How was his head wound?"

"There are a couple of missing stitches, but I think he was lucky; it didn't appear to be bleeding too much when I left him. At least, the cloth we were using to staunch the flow didn't have more than a drop or two of blood on it."

"That _is_ reassuring, I have to say."

Arthur tried, he really did, but he could not stop himself from asking the one question that surely _needed_ to be asked.

"Well? What did he _say_? Any clues as to what is wrong with him?"

"Not really," said Gwaine, chewing at his lip. "But I got the feeling that he knows exactly what is wrong, but either isn't willing, or isn't able to say."

The knight paused, and Arthur found himself once again under a strange scrutiny from the other man. He raised an eyebrow at the impertinence, but resisted the urge to comment. Gwaine's eye twitched almost imperceptibly, and he nodded again.

"I think there's magic involved," he stated abruptly.

"_What?_" spluttered Gaius. "_Gwaine_!"

"He's under an enchantment," continued the knight, steadying the physician with a reassuring grip on his shoulder. "That's the only explanation; Merlin may act the fool most of the time, but he's unflappable when it comes to a crisis. He keeps his head. This...whatever _this_ is... this isn't Merlin."

Gaius closed his eyes and slumped a little.

"It makes sense," he said. "I'd wondered whether there was sorcery involved...but I never like to jump to conclusions."

Arthur suddenly felt a little lighter; not only were his own suspicions about the use of sorcery being used somewhat substantiated, but it seemed fairly clear that Gaius's fever explanation had also been, whether consciously done or not, because of the delicate nature of his deeper suspicions. Magic was something that made _everyone_ worry that little bit more, Arthur included.

The king decided that now would be a good time to add his own thoughts on the subject.

"I've actually suspected magic all along, and have even been doing some research on the subject, so to speak."

"Research?" said Gwaine, raising both his eyebrows.

"Yes, research. No need to look so surprised. I will tell you what I have learned, but first I want you to tell me exactly what Merlin said, and to describe how he was acting."

"Well, it wasn't so much what he said, but what he _didn't_ say," replied the knight, scrunching his brow. "He was very particular about what he would and wouldn't tell me. Now Merlin can be a bit cryptic at the best of times, but this was different. I definitely got the feeling that he was trying to tell me something, but whatever it was, he couldn't actually _say_ it. And he was very twitchy; kept trying to scratch himself all the time."

Arthur winced. He'd hoped that the scratching would have ceased along with the mad mutterings from his friend, especially after Gwaine had managed to calm him so much.

"And he definitely had a strong reaction when I pushed him for answers," the knight said ruefully, rubbing the back of his head.

"He _attacked_ you?"

"Well, it was more a defensive manoeuvre," replied Gwaine, waving his arm dismissively. "My point is, he panicked. He's definitely touchy about what is causing this. Or who. That's one very frightened young man in that room, and I for one am going to find out who is doing this to him, and make sure they suffer the consequences."

Arthur digested this latest information, and nodded to himself.

"Was there anything else? Did he...well, it is clear that he is not comfortable around me," he stopped for a moment, then ruthlessly ploughed ahead. "Did he give a reason as to why he is so scared?"

Once again, there was a subtle – but still very definite – shared look between the knight and Gaius, and Arthur had to stifle the urge to demand what was being hidden from him, but he let it pass once more; they were finally starting to get somewhere, and he was in no mind to halt their progression by losing his temper.

"He's under the impression that you wish to hurt him," said Gwaine carefully. "Punish him for something."

"Punish him for _what_?" he asked, baffled. "What on earth would I be _punishing_ him for? And honestly, apart from the odd goblet to the head here and there, I haven't punished Merlin in any seriousness for _years_. The worst I've done is condemn him to time spent with George, which granted, isn't a pleasant experience, but hardly worthy of causing a man so much terror."

"Well I_ did_ try to reassure him, but he's convinced you mean him harm. Mentioned something about being locked up, and -"

"Gwaine, I don't think we need to know the exact nature of punishments that Merlin has deluded himself into dreaming up in his current state," said Gaius firmly. "There is such a thing as too much information, thank you very much."

"Indeed," said Arthur, feeling cold at the idea that Merlin would think such terrible thoughts about him.

"He doesn't want you in there," said Gwaine, and Arthur was taken aback at the gentleness of the usually mocking knight's voice. "Asked me specifically to not let you in his room."

There was an awkward silence at the words, with all three men refusing to look at each other. Arthur cleared his throat.

"I have spoken to Mordred about the possibility of there being druid magic involved."

"_Druid_ magic?" said Gaius, looking shocked. "That is... a surprising idea, sire. Druids are generally a peaceful people, and they certainly have no cause to harm _Merlin_."

"I would agree, but there is something that I did not tell you before; something that I passed off as being in my imagination, but it is something that keeps returning to my mind, and I cannot ignore its significance. Merlin collapsed at the same time that the druid girl died; possibly even at the exact moment. I saw him just as the platform was released beneath the girl's feet, and he... stumbled. Or something. I put it from my mind, but I keep going back to it. I think it's possible that the girl may have something to do with this; a dying curse, if you will. A way for her to have some revenge. So I spoke with Mordred."

"And was he forthcoming?" asked Gaius, placing a calming hand on Gwaine, who looked like he was about to storm out of the room.

"Not especially," said Arthur bitterly. "Though he _did_ manage to make me believe that my suspicions were on the right track; of course, he defended the girl, but that is to be expected. He tried very hard to turn my mind from her, actually."

"I don't know that I've ever heard of a druid cursing someone at the moment of death," said Gaius thoughtfully. "But it is certainly something that I can research. Gwaine, as you want to help so badly, perhaps you could pay Geoffrey a visit for me; ask him for everything that he has on druids. I know there are several books that he keeps locked securely away from the main area, but I am sure that a note from Arthur will be sufficient for him to fetch them from the safety of the vaults. Sire?"

"Of course."

Within minutes, a slightly reluctant Gwaine left the chambers with a scant note from the king in his hands, Arthur's seal still wet on the folded parchment. Gaius poured a cup of watered wine and placed it before the blonde, tapping his hand comfortingly, then the physician busied himself with brewing some fresh potions for when Merlin woke up.

Arthur watched his old friend for several minutes, the familiar sight soothing him somewhat. Inevitably though, his eyes wandered the same path as his mind, and he found himself looking towards the door of his friend's room. Checking to see that Gaius was still occupied – the old man was bent so close to his workstation that Arthur was certain he could dance on the table unnoticed – he got to his feet, and walked swiftly towards the door that was beckoning him.

"_Watch him, my lord. Watch him carefully."_

And Arthur _did_ watch; he watched how his friend's face puckered with pain every few seconds; he watched as Merlin twitched even in sleep, his hands digging at his body ineffectually due to their bindings.

He watched, and he watched for several minutes. Finally recognising that he'd seen enough, he closed the door softly behind him and made his way back to the table, picking up his untouched wine and nursing it broodingly.

The sight of his friend's still very real suffering was not pleasant viewing, but it was not the shivering form of his manservant that bothered him the most; it was the scene of destruction that surrounded the man. Something had happened in that room since the last time Arthur had been in there – a mere few hours previously – something that had caused severe destruction to the room and its contents.

Despite the enlightening – and fruitful – discussion that had just occurred in this very chamber not so many minutes ago, it was clear that Arthur was still missing a great deal of information.


	9. A Little Explanation

Hi everyone!

I'm sorry if you were expecting a chapter in your inbox, but I wanted to post a little note as it's been a few weeks since the last update. I haven't forgotten this story, and am definitely _not_ abandoning it, but I wanted to let you guys know that it's likely to be another week or two before I start updating again. I hate leaving such a long gap between chapters, but there's nothing much I can do about it at the moment, unfortunately. I have a couple of health issues that are sucking the energy out of me at the moment, and most days I'm literally struggling to keep my eyes open. I have B12 anaemia, and require booster shots every 12 weeks to up my energy levels. I'm currently on week 10 of my 'cycle', so to say I am tired is an understatement. I'm also pregnant (and boy, THAT was a shock, let me tell you! I have an 18 year old son and a 12 year old daughter, so I'd completely forgotten just how tired you get in the first 13 weeks!). By happy coincidence, my B12 booster shot is booked for November 4th, which marks the end of my 13th week of pregnancy, so all being well my energy levels should rise again and I'll be able to stay awake long enough to write an update or two.

Once again, I'm sorry for the long wait, and I'm also sorry that I haven't replied individually to all of your lovely reviews. I've read and appreciated ALL of them, and am so grateful for each and every one. I have half a chapter written, and am managing to add maybe a couple of hundred words at a time to it from time to time before my brain shuts down (HA!), so I'll get it posted as soon as I finish it. In the meantime, thank you SO MUCH for all the follows and favourites (and the reviews, of course), and I'll see you in a week or two!

E x


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